A Matter of Time
by Burenda
Summary: When Jak first landed in Haven City, Erol wasn't the one to find him. Now he must face a future he is ill prepared for, and even with help from Sig and Damas, there's no guarantee that he'll survive. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

Warnings: Spoilers for Jak 1-3.

**-Chapter One-**

"Do something, Jak!" Keira's voice snapped Jak out of his moment of shock, and the boy tore his gaze away from the strange... _thing_ that was trying to pull itself through the Precursor ring. Mind racing, he scanned the control board in front of him. This machine had opened the ring in the first place, maybe it could close it again - if he could just figure out _how_.

"What's this do? Or that! How 'bout this one!" Beside him, Jak's friend, Daxter started flipping switches and hitting anything that looked even remotely like it had a purpose. When nothing happened besides a few corresponding beeps, the ottsel practically screamed, "Everybody, press all the buttons!"

Good old Daxter. Panicky but quick-thinking. Jak grabbed the - steering wheel? Could this thing even move? But there was a pedal beneath his foot and even though this thing didn't have _anything_ in common with Keira's A-GraV Zoomer, his intuition told him that this machine could _go_.

And it was pointed right at the monster that was trying to get into their world.

Jak's mouth formed a thin, determined line on his face and he slammed his foot down. The machine instantly sprang to life, launching itself forward with a smoothness and speed that surprised him. Within moments, they flew right off the platform and straight into the monster's face. Jak squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the impact.

But it never happened. Or at least it didn't _feel_ like they hit anything. The blond cracked his eyes open, then widened them in wonder. The entire world was nothing but a streaming mass of purple light.

"What _was_ that thing?" Keira asked shakily. Wind whipped her blue hair into her face and she lifted a hand to push it back.

Jak shook his head. He didn't have an answer. His eyes sought out Samos, the oldest and most knowledgeable of them all, but before the Green Sage could say anything, the machine lurched wildly to the right. Jak gasped and fought to steady the controls, but it was like fighting a wild animal. It bucked and swerved no matter what Jak did.

"Hang on everyone!" Following his own advice, Samos gripped the edge of the machine so tightly that his green knuckles almost turned white.

Daxter was nowhere near as calm. "Yaahh! I want off this thing!"

The machine rattled and shook even harder, but it held together and sailed on. To where, Jak had no idea, but so long as they made it in one piece, anything else could be worked out later. The light they were heading towards seemed to be getting closer. Jak tried not to hold his breath. Could it almost be over?

Then something struck the ship, Keira screamed, and the world exploded in white.

-o-

_Ow._

As far as coherent thoughts went, it was pretty pathetic, but as Jak pushed himself up off the ground, he was proud of even that. His whole body hurt. For a moment he was afraid that his impact with the ground had broken something, but a quick check with his hands found everything relatively in place. Good. That meant he could push aside his body's complaints and concentrate on helping his friends.

_Daxter?_ Buildings rose up around him, all metal and rust and glass. Jak had never seen anything like it in his life. Even Gol and Maia's citadel seemed somehow warmer, probably because of its mix of ancient Precursor technology. His fuzzy orange friend should have stood out like a sore thumb against this city's grim backdrop, but the only flashes of the color he sought were in the strange signs and lights that stuck out overhead. Jak spun around. _Keira? Samos?_

He wasn't alone. There were people all around him, but most of them avoided even looking his way and those that did look only hurried on as though afraid. Disturbed - since when had anyone ever been _afraid_ of him? - Jak started toward one of the buildings. His friends obviously weren't here. Lacking any better ideas, the buildings seemed the best place to start looking. If nothing else, maybe he could find someone who would give him some information.

"What the _hell_ was that?"

The deep voice stopped him in his tracks. Jak turned and tilted his head inquisitively at the tall man with... was that a _goggle lens_ embedded in the place of his eye? He tried to shake off the vaguely horrifying thought with a gesture and a shrug. _What was what?_

"Don't play dumb with me, cherry," the man growled. Even without the false eye, he posed an intimidating figure, clad in heavy, spiked armor and with an oddly shaped staff or weapon of some kind strapped to his back. The dark scowl only completed the picture. "I saw that blast that dropped you outta the sky. What was that and what did you have to do with it?"

Jak stared at him in a moment of awkward silence. How was he supposed to answer that? Even with as little as he knew, it was still more complicated than he could hope to communicate with gestures and facial expressions. Maybe if he had Daxter's help to translate...

"...under arrest for suspicious activity. Surrender or die!" The harsh, tinny voice cut through the crowd, not directed at either Jak or the man confronting him, but still demanding attention. As Jak's eyes landed on the group of men in red and gray armor, the man in front of him cursed softly.

"_Damn._ We've got to get out of here." Jak glanced back at him, but the man shook his head, forestalling any questions, and instead took Jak by the shoulder. "Not here. We can both ask our questions when we're someplace safer. Follow me."

_Well, I _did_ want to talk to someone._ With that wry thought in his head, Jak put up no protest as he was half-guided, half-dragged away from the scene the red men were making. The man wove his way through the crowd as though he was quite used to the heavy traffic. Come to think of it, he probably was. _Jak_ was the one who was out of his element here.

_Oh wow, look at those zoomers._

Indeed, vehicles of all sorts flew overhead, some large, some small, all of them sleeker and quieter than the one he was familiar with. They crawled across the sky at the same height and speed, as though traveling along lines that only they could see. Jak's fingers itched to try one. Was that really as fast as they could go?

A sharp tug pulled him out of his day dreams and into a dimly lit and somewhat dingy building whose door slid open on its own as they approached. The place was dominated by a roped off square in the middle of the room whose purpose Jak couldn't determine, but the counter at the far end and the tables tucked into private alcoves suggested a fair bit. A faint odor permeated the air that reminded him a little of Boggy Billy's breath. The boy wrinkled his nose. Only one other person was in the room, a pretty blond girl who was busy wiping down the counter. She glanced up when they entered, then smiled as soon as she saw his companion.

"Sig! What brings you here?" Her eyes drifted to Jak, looking him up and down before favoring him with a wink. Jak found himself blushing. "And who's the kid? You know I can't serve him."

Sig shook his head. "Just need to use a table in the corner, Tess. You can hook me up with my usual. The kid can have water."

Actually, water sounded pretty good. It felt like ages since the last time he'd had anything to drink. Jak gave Tess a tentative smile to indicate that he was fine with this choice and received a dazzling flash of Tess's teeth in return. _Wow._

Sig rolled his eyes but otherwise ignored the exchange. Releasing Jak's shoulder at last, he gave the boy a slight push in the direction of the table he wanted. "Just sit down and cool off, chili pepper." Okay, maybe he hadn't ignored it. Still, Jak sat down willingly and the two waited until Tess came over to deliver their drinks, which she did with what seemed to be her usual bubbly aplomb.

Once she was gone, Sig took a long pull of the dark liquid in his mug, then set it down with a _thud_. "All right, kid. Time to talk."

Oh boy. Oh well, all he could do was give it a shot. Maybe Sig would be one of those few people who could understand him without Daxter's help. With one hand he drew a circle in the air, then held up four fingers on his other hand. After giving Sig a significant look, he closed the four fingers and sailed them through the ring he'd just drawn. _My friends and I went through a Precursor ring._

"Whoa, hold on there," Sig interrupted him with a glare. "I said talk, not lead an orchestra!"

Jak sighed. So much for that. He lifted a hand and pointed at his throat, then shook his head.

That, at least, Sig could understand. "You tellin' me you can't speak?" he asked flatly. When Jak nodded, the man all but growled. "Oh, now _that's_ convenient."

Hearing the sarcasm in Sig's voice, Jak scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. _I'm not lying!_

Sig scoffed. "I'll believe that when Metal Heads hand me their gems on a platter. You ain't foolin' nobody, kid. I heard you yellin' when you fell from the sky. If you're mute, then I'm a giant kangarat."

This conversation was getting more and more frustrating by the minute. Jak made an exasperated noise in the back of his throat and threw his hands up in the air. _I never said I was mute. I said I can't speak! There's a difference!_ Darn it, where was Daxter when you needed him?

But Daxter wasn't here. In fact, _he_ might be the one who needed _Jak_, and in order to find him, Jak needed information. He _had_ to make himself understood. But how?

His eyes fell on the cup of water in front of him and an idea popped into his head. _It's not as good as sand, but..._ He spared a glance for Sig, then picked his cup up and plopped himself down on the floor, motioning for the other man to join him. _Let's try this again._ Dipping his finger into the water, he began to draw in the thin layer of grime that coated the floor.

A circle. Four people. And there was the monster, although Jak wasn't certain how well he communicated that concept. Even besides the fact that he was no artist, it was hard to draw detail. He drew a box around the scene, then moved to another section of the floor. The four people were in the machine now, with lines behind it to indicate motion. They were headed for the monster.

At first, Sig just looked at him askance as he sat and drew on the floor, but as Jak's story unfolded, he became more interested. Finally, he got out of his chair and crouched beside the boy.

The explosion was perhaps the easiest thing to draw, with the four people flying off in different directions. Jak didn't actually know if that was true. Maybe he was the only one who had been separated from the others. But it seemed as good a guess as any and it got his point across more clearly. He gestured toward the door. _And that's how I got here._

Sig studied the drawings for several long moments before finally speaking. "So," he said slowly, "let me see if I'm getting this straight." He reached out to tap the four figures in the first scene. "You and three other people were... someplace, when a Metal Head tried to bust down the door." His finger swung to the second picture. "The four of you got in a zoomer and rammed him. 'Course, that wasn't good for the zoomer and it exploded, dropping you in Haven City and them who knows where. That about sum it up?"

Jak had no idea what a Metal Head was, but he didn't know what the monster was either. For all he knew, maybe it _was_ a Metal Head. The rest, though... He hesitated, then shrugged and waved his hand. _Close._ He pointed at the circle and shook his head. _Not a door._

"Not a door?" Sig unconsciously echoed. Maybe he wasn't as bad at reading Jak's 'language' as Jak had first thought.

In response, Jak dipped his finger in his water again and started sketching another picture. This one wasn't meant to tell a story. It was just a figure with large bug eyes and an elongated snout. Simple as it was, anyone who had ever seen one of the oracles would instantly recognize it for what it was.

Sig's eyebrows flew up in surprise. "A Precursor?"

Jak nodded, then pointed at the ring.

Sig made the connection immediately. "A Precursor door. _That's_ what you flew through."

Close enough. Jak sat back on his haunches, satisfied.

The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully, mulling this information over in his head. "I know someone," he said at last. "Someone with a lot more experience with Precursor stuff. I could ask him what he thinks about this next time I see him."

Jak wanted to ask who, but the cautious way Sig had spoken made him think that he wouldn't get an answer, so he just nodded. Still, his ears pricked up with interest. He gestured eagerly. _When can you talk to him?_

Sig shook his head, ignoring the question, or perhaps not understanding. "You got a name, kid?" He turned his full attention from the drawings on the floor to the teenager beside him, watching intently to see how Jak would answer. Unused to such heavy scrutiny - and the strange glass eye didn't help - Jak fought the urge to squirm.

The water in his cup had formed a slight film on the surface from all the grime that had transferred from Jak's finger, but it parted easily when he touched it. Slowly, carefully, he scrawled one symbol, then another, then a third.

J. A. K.

Reading and writing was not something that came to him naturally. He didn't like sitting still for Samos' lessons, didn't like showing up for those lessons at all when there were much more interesting things to do with his friend Daxter. But this much was easy, one of the first things that Samos had ever taught him.

He looked at Sig. _My name is Jak._

-o-

"Jak," Sig said out loud. Short. Simple. He liked it. After eyeing the word written in the floor's filth for a moment, he turned a speculative look on the boy. "You can read and write?" That would make things a whole helluva lot easier.

The kid made a face at the question and rubbed the back of his neck. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he was embarrassed, or to guess as to why. Jak held out his hand and waggled it from side to side. Sig interpreted that to mean _"Sort of."_ Damn. _How the hell has he lived this long without learning how to communicate?_ Yeah, sure, the kid seemed used to explaining things with pictures and gestures, but as they were both finding out, that was only good for so much. What did he do when he inevitably pissed the wrong person off? Hand waving wouldn't save his hide from a Krimzon Guard or a Wastelander with a burr up his ass, and those were two _very_ common things. Something didn't add up here.

"Where are you from?" he demanded. Maybe that would shed some light on things.

It didn't.

"Where the hell is Sandover?"

For the first time since Sig had found the boy, a look of genuine alarm crossed his face. He motioned urgently with his hands, but whatever he was trying to say was lost on the older man.

Sig scowled and caught the kid by the wrists. "Whoa, calm down, cherry! You're not makin' any sense." Jak shook his head and tried to pull free. The strength behind the effort took Sig by surprise, but he was larger, older, and stronger. Jak didn't stand a chance. "I said _calm down!_"

It took a few more futile tugs for it to sink into the boy's head that he wasn't going anywhere, but eventually Jak stilled. The teenager looked up at him with large, blue eyes that showed entirely too much emotion. He might have stopped struggling, but he was still upset. Sig released his hands.

"There. Now sit down and take a few deep breaths. I'll be right back." He didn't wait to see if the kid did as he was told, just turned and headed straight for Tess. The barmaid had kept tactfully out of the conversation, even when it was loud enough that she couldn't help but overhear, but when Sig approached, she jerked her head in Jak's direction.

"Is he all right?"

Sig grunted. "Just peachy." Tess was a good enough girl, although he suspected that she did more than just bartend for Krew. He had no problem with that himself. Hell, he'd be a hypocrite if he did. He just didn't feel like sharing his - or Jak's - personal business. "You got any paper and somethin' to write with?" Drawing in the dirt just wasn't cutting it.

Especially when he considered that it _wasn't_ just dirt.

Tess eyed him, a little too shrewdly for her barely adult years, but she didn't call him on essentially dodging her question. That was what made her a good bartender. She knew when to press an issue and when to keep her mouth shut. "Yeah, I've got some scraps for keeping track of people's tabs. Hang on." As she reached down below the counter, Sig could hear the faint rustle and clink of items being moved around. A moment later she pulled her hand back up, clutching a pen and several sheets of wrinkled paper. "Here you go," she said. "I want the pen back when you're done with it."

Sig nodded. "Thanks." Taking the pen and paper, the Wastelander went back to where he'd left Jak. The kid had apparently listened to him and was sitting in his chair, though from the expression on his face he was still very stressed. Sig dropped what he was carrying on the table.

"All right, Jak, here's what I want you to do." He pushed the pen and paper forward. "Draw me a picture of Sandover. Or a map. Tell me where there's trees or rocks or water. Anything significant. Tell me where the sun rises and sets. If you know how to write the words, give me names of places and people. In fact, try to label everything you can. Think you can do that?"

Jak looked from Sig to the stack of papers, then nodded and picked up the pen. Sig smiled and clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Good. You do that while I go make a few calls. I'll ask Tess to keep an eye on you. If you need food or water, ask her, but whatever you do, don't leave the bar until I get back. Understand?"

Another nod, serious enough that Sig believed it. He might have scolded the kid for trusting a virtual stranger so easily, but it worked in his favor so he let it go. Now to convince Tess to watch an underage and unaccompanied teenager and make sure he stayed out of trouble. _I'm gonna owe her big for this,_ he mused ruefully. But it couldn't be helped. This needed to be reported and he needed more information.

He needed to talk to Damas.

**-End Chapter One-**


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

Warnings: Spoilers for Jak 1-3.

**-Chapter Two-**

As Sig stepped out of the transport, the heat of the Wasteland sun hit him like a breath of fire. He inhaled deeply, relishing the feeling. It was rare to see the sun in Haven City. If it wasn't raining, it was too polluted for more than a weak light to filter through the atmosphere. _I'll take the desert over the city any day._

The roar of an engine in the distance ended the moment, prompting Sig to pull his Peacemaker from his back. It was probably a Marauder, not close enough to be a threat, but those suckers had a nasty habit of popping out of nowhere. Best be prepared.

It wasn't far from the transport landing site to the entrance to Spargus, but he was sweating by the time he got there. _I'm getting soft,_ he thought with disgust. At least he hadn't turned pasty pale like the average Haven citizen. The day that happened, he vowed to spend a week in the desert without shelter, beyond what was necessary, and sunburn be damned. No way in hell did he want to look like one of _them_.

A couple of people greeted him as he made his way through the desert city's streets and he greeted them back. Everyone else ignored him, which was fine with him. He wasn't here to socialize. Stepping into the elevator that led to Damas' throne room, he slung his Peacemaker back over his shoulder. He wouldn't need it in the isolated chamber nor would it be acceptable. With most people, it wouldn't matter and he wouldn't care, but with the Wastelander king it was a different story. Besides being king, Damas had long since earned his respect.

The elevator came to a halt and Sig stepped off, careful to stay on the path and out of the swirling water that covered a good portion of the floor. After the heat of the desert, the moisture in the air was a shock of its own, but one that also brought some relief. Sig shook his head. _Focus._

"Your message was a little cryptic, Sig." Damas was waiting for him, of course, completely unsurprised by his appearance. The stern lines on his face and his white hair made him look older than Sig knew he was, but he still had the powerful figure of a warrior, the dusty battle leathers he wore and the staff, always ready in his hand, only adding to the image. Right now he was standing in front of his throne, his eyes, a blue that bordered on purple, drilling into Sig. "And it's too early for your regular report. What have you found?"

Straight to the point. That was one of the things Sig liked about Damas. No endless dickering around or mealymouthed pussyfooting like so many Havenites he could name. God, he missed the Wasteland. "I'm not certain," he said just as bluntly. "I'd just finished a mission for Krew and was heading back to the Hip Hog when something exploded in the sky. Wasn't like no bomb I've ever seen, or anythin' else I can name, either, and it came out of nowhere. Literally."

Damas' eyes narrowed. "An attack?"

Sig shook his head. "Nothin' else happened, except a kid and a bit of wreckage fell out of it. Kid says it was a zoomer. I think." Damas arched an eyebrow and opened his mouth, but Sig held up a hand to forestall him. "No, I'm _not_ certain. The kid can't speak. He can hear fine, so he's not deaf. Just couldn't speak. He drew pictures and used a lot of hand waving to talk to me, so there's probably a lot of room for interpretation."

Rubbing his chin as he considered this, Damas moved to sit down on his throne. "What else did he tell you?"

"He thinks he went through a Precursor door of some sort."

_That_ got Damas' attention. The king sat up straight, his free hand gripping the arm of his chair. "What kind of Precursor door?"

"I don't know. The picture he drew was just a giant ring with a Metal Head tryin' to come through. He and three of his friends got in a zoomer and rammed it. Their zoomer exploded and he got separated. When I asked him about the ring, he just said it was a Precursor door." Sig's eyes searched the king's face, looking for some hint as to what the other was thinking. "I told him I'd ask a 'friend' what they knew about Precursor things."

Damas nodded. He was, of course, the friend Sig was referring to. Sig knew Damas' family line was old and had a lot of ties to the Precursors, though Damas had never gone into precise detail about what those ties entailed. And he never, ever spoke about what happened when he visited Mar's Tomb. It made Sig curious, but he knew better than to ask.

Until now, that is.

"So, you got any ideas?"

Damas barked a laugh. "Plenty," he said. "Precursor doors have been known to do many things. You say this explosion appeared out of nowhere?"

"Yeah. One minute it was clear skies - well, as clear as it ever gets," he amended. "Then the next, BOOM! Fricasseed teenager right at my feet."

"Then it was most likely a transport ring." Damas stood up and began pacing. "Transport rings can take a person across great distances in mere seconds, but there's always a corresponding ring on the other end. You don't just fall out of the sky."

"Could the explosion have thrown them off target somehow?" Sig didn't know much about Precursor technology, but he doubted any technology, no matter who made it, would take kindly to something blowing up inside of it.

"It's a good possibility," Damas mused. A deep frown crossed his face. "The idea of Metal Heads using transport rings is troubling. I wonder where they were trying to go."

"Someplace called Sandover, would be my bet," Sig said. "The-"

"What?" Damas cut him off sharply.

Sig blinked. "Sandover," he repeated slowly. "That's where Jak said he was from. Kid freaked out when I didn't recognize it."

Damas' hand sliced through the air in denial. "That's impossible," he said. "Sandover no longer exists!"

_What?_ Now it was Sig's turn to frown. "What do you mean, Damas?" Was Sandover someplace that had been destroyed? Was that why he had never heard of it? But if that was the case, why would Jak insist that was where he had come from?

"I'm not surprised you don't know," the king replied. "It's not something that's common knowledge anymore. I only know because as ruler of Haven City I had to learn much of its history." He strode away restlessly, something he often did when discussing his former home. "Years ago, generations before you or I were born, Haven City _was_ Sandover. It was renamed when Mar built the eco shield wall that now protects the city. You must have misunderstood the boy when he told you where he was from."

But that didn't make any sense either. "Wasn't much to misunderstand," Sig pointed out. "He's got at least a rudimentary knowledge of reading and writing. I asked him where he was from, he wrote 'Sandover.' Simple as that."

Damas stopped and turned to face Sig. "Then either he is lying or someone lied to him." He punctuated this statement with a sharp rap of his staff against the stone floor. "There _is_ no Sandover. Not anymore."

What could he say to that? Sig frowned, but kept his silence. He had a feeling that Damas wasn't done yet.

Sure enough, it was only a few moments before Damas sat down and leaned forward in his chair, his hand on his chin as he thought. "I want to speak with this... Jak," he said at last. "Lying or not, he knows something about what the Metal Heads are up to, and I want to know what it is. Bring him to me, Sig."

It was rare for the Wastelander king to ask someone be brought to Spargus who did not already know about the city, rarer still when that person was not being scouted as a potential Wastelander, but Sig nodded without question. "With pleasure."

-o-

Having a task to focus on, Jak found, helped a lot when dealing with stress. He half suspected that was why Sig had set him this assignment in the first place. The other half of him insisted that the dusky-skinned warrior was going to use the map to help him find his home. Either way, Jak was grateful. Even if he really, _really_ hated writing.

S-I-T-A-D-E-L. He frowned as he stared at the word he'd just written. Something was wrong with it, but he couldn't lay his finger on what. It wasn't one of the words Samos made him practice, so he wasn't used to writing it. Eventually he shrugged and moved on. It wasn't really important. Gol and Maia's citadel wasn't even part of his village, or anywhere near it. He was just using it to help Sig reference Sandover's location. After all, he didn't know how far away that Precursor ring had taken him. Far enough, if Sig had never heard of Jak's village.

It had been hours since Sig had left, during which time a handful of people had come and gone. Most of them had given him strange looks, but a few murmured words from Tess convinced them to leave him alone. Jak didn't know whether to be glad or disappointed. He was starting to feel restless and would have liked to talk to someone, but the people who came to this place had an unhealthy pallor and didn't look very friendly. Actually, come to think of it, even Tess was pretty pale. The only person he'd seen so far who had a tan was Sig. _I wonder why that is..._

Bored with the map assignment, he pulled another piece of paper from the pile Sig had left and began to doodle a sketch of Daxter. He really wasn't very good at drawing. In fact, he could almost hear Daxter's outraged protests if he ever learned what these scribblings were supposed to be.

_What?! Jak, you need your eyes checked if you think a diseased yakow looks like me!_

The thought made Jak smile.

"Ooh, what's that?" Lacking patrons to keep her busy, Tess had wandered over to take a look at what Jak was doing. "Is that your pet?" She leaned over and propped her elbows on the table, inadvertently giving Jak a full view of her ample bosom. The teenager blushed, the color reaching the tips of his ears.

_No._ He shook his head and focused on the picture. The picture was a safe thing to look at. Pen still in hand, he pulled the paper closer and wrote DAXTER on the bottom. Daxter was another easy word for him. Then, in case she needed clarification, he added FREIND.

"Daxter's your friend?" Tess asked.

Jak smiled and nodded. On an impulse, he handed her the picture. _Here._ He wouldn't get to see Daxter's reaction to the horrible drawing, but the smile that lit up Tess' face, he decided, was definitely worth it.

"Wow, for me?" she said, seeming genuinely pleased. "Thank you, Jak! You're sweet." She reached out to ruffle his hair.

Not... exactly the reaction he'd been looking for. Blushing for an entirely different reason this time, he huffed and swatted her hand away. _I'm not a kid!_

Tess just laughed and pulled away from the table. "I'll go pin this on the wall," she said. "I bet Krew won't even notice."

Something behind them suddenly blocked the light. "I wouldn't be so sure of that, my dear," someone growled. Tess jumped and Jak started in surprise, whipping his head around to see who-

A bloated, doughy face shoved itself not two inches from his own, eliciting a startled yelp from the teen. Jak nearly fell out of his chair as he tried to jerk away.

"Who's this, eh?" the giant... person... thing... demanded.

Jak gagged. _Oh man... His breath..._

"This?" Tess asked, falling immediately back to her bright and cheerful self with hardly the bat of an eye. She didn't seem at all phased by the newcomer's large, grotesque appearance. Casually sidling up to the boy and pulling him out of his chair - and incidentally away from the hovering fat man - she ruffled his hair again. "This is Jak! He's waiting for Sig. Jak, this is Krew. He owns the place."

Jak offered a weak smile and lifted his hand in greeting.

Krew glared at the two suspiciously. "A bit young to be waiting in _my_ bar, isn't he? I've got enough problems with the Baron's goons breathing down my neck without _inviting_ more trouble for some _worthless brat._" The bar owner took a deep, wheezing breath, then muttered, "If he at least _looked_ of age, that would be one thing, but if the Krimzon Guard hears rumors that I allow underage drinking..."

"Sig will be back any minute," Tess hastily reassured him.

"Not good enough!" Krew snapped. "I want the boy out of here now! And no loitering outside the door!"

"But-"

"Out!"

Uh oh. This wasn't good. Sig had specifically instructed Jak to wait inside the bar. He wasn't certain why, but if nothing else, how would Sig find him if he wasn't here when the man got back? His mind raced as he tried to come up with something that would convince Krew to let him stay.

It turned out he didn't need to.

"Unless..." Krew's voice took on a distinctively sly tone, and his eyes glinted craftily as he looked at Jak again. The man's lips split apart in a rot-toothed grin when Jak looked up at him. "You any good with a zoomer, boy?"

Jak hesitated. He had a feeling that Krew was referring to one of those sleek zoomer that he'd seen on his way to the bar. But the principles were probably the same as the A-GraV zoomer and he _was_ good with that. He'd spent hours racing the thing through the Precursor Basin, and that was even after beating that gambler's racing challenge. Not to mention his runs through the Fire Canyon and the Lava Tube. Saying he was good with a zoomer wouldn't be a lie.

He met Krew's eyes, ignoring how one of them was milky white with disease, and nodded firmly.

The man's grin became even more shark-like. "Excellent! Then let me propose a deal." He hovered a few feet back, finally giving Jak some breathing room, and pulled out a fan which he fanned himself with as he spoke. "You run a quick errand for me, boy, and I'll allow you to wait in my bar for Sig. Unobtrusively, mind you. I don't want you drawing..." He sucked in a breath. "...unnecessary attention."

Jak glanced at Tess. She caught the look and shrugged. "If Sig comes back while you're gone, I can tell him where you went and he can wait for you. It's your call, Jak."

Jak nodded, which Krew seemed to take for assent.

"One of my men was delivering something to me when he was, ah, unfortunately shot down," he said. "He dropped the package somewhere near the Pumping Station. I have reason to believe that the Krimzon Guard has not yet found that package, but it's only a matter of time before they do. I need someone to go up there quickly and retrieve it for me before they find it. Think you can do that, boy?"

Well, that sounded simple enough. There was only one problem. Scrunching his eyebrows down in confusion, he gestured helplessly. _Where's the Pumping Station?_

Fortunately, either Sig had told Tess that he wasn't from around here, or Tess had figured it out herself, because she seemed to understand his dilemma. "Jak's new to Haven, Krew," she said. "He needs a map."

A flicker of surprise entered those beady eyes. "New, eh?" Krew regarded him more closely. "Then you must be familiar with the dangers of the outside world. Even better. There's a map of the city already programmed into the zoomer that's waiting outside. Go to the north side of Haven, in the Water Slums. You'll find a large pipe in the wall there that leads to the Pumping Station. Get there and back as quickly as you can and avoid any guards you see." He growled at nothing in particular and clenched a meaty hand into a fist. "I _need_ that package!"

Something about what Krew was asking him to do tickled uneasily in the back of Jak's head, but he just simply didn't know enough to figure out what it was. _It doesn't matter,_ he told himself. _I need to do this so Krew will let me stay. Besides, maybe I'll run into one of the others while I'm out there._ That thought made him infinitely happier.

_Take a zoomer, fly out of the city, find a package, and come back._ He smiled and gave Krew a thumbs up. _Yeah, I can do that._

Really, how hard could it be?

-o-

"You let him do _what?_" Sig's incredulous voice rose sharply. It had been a nasty shock to come back to the Hip Hog and find that Jak wasn't there. Nastier still when he found out why.

Tess scowled and folded her arms across her chest. "He was going to get kicked out anyway, no matter what I did. At least if he did the job, Krew would let him back in. We didn't know how long you'd be gone, Sig."

Sig swore furiously. "Damn it, this is just what I need." He didn't know what the story was with Jak, but if there was one thing that was certain, it was that the boy didn't know his way around Haven or what kinds of traps to avoid with its citizens. Hell, the kid had just stood there staring while a group of Krimzon Guards was making arrests! And that didn't even begin to take into account the Metal Heads.

Wait. Jak. Krimzon Guard. Metal Heads.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Sig realized something that put this whole sorry mess in an even worse light. "Krew didn't give Jak anythin' else besides the zoomer, did he?" he asked, already fairly certain of the answer. It wasn't in Krew's nature to give anything to anyone unless he had to or they'd earned it, and sometimes not even then. Jak hadn't earned squat yet.

Tess shook her head.

"Shit." Jak hadn't been carrying anything when Sig found him, not counting the clothes he was wearing. Those clothes weren't bulky enough to conceal anything significant. That meant the kid was weaponless. Sig grimaced for a moment before his expression solidified with determination.

"Sig?" Tess called after him as he headed for the door. "What are you going to do?"

"Only thing I can," he replied, never turning back. The door slid shut behind him and he scowled, tightening his grip on his Peacemaker. _I'm going to find Jak, kick his butt for bein' an idiot, then haul his cherry ass back to Damas._

And Krew's "package" could go to hell for all he cared.

**-End Chapter Two-**


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

Warnings: Spoilers for Jak 1-3.

**-Chapter Three-**

_Whoa whoa whoa whoa turn turn TURN!_ Somebody screamed as Jak's zoomer nearly plowed through a kiosk, and for once he wasn't certain that it wasn't _him_.

"High speed chase in sector six!"

"Suspect is in vehicle-"

"PULL OVER!"

_I would if you'd stop shooting at me!_ Jak frantically twisted the zoomer's handlebars, leaning his weight all the way to the left. The zoomer, _far_ more responsive than the one Keira put together, swerved in the same direction - and then some. Instead of crashing into a fruit stand, he fishtailed and clipped one of the red guards that was trying to bring him down.

"Oof!"

Jak winced. _Sorry!_

"Man down! Man down!"

"Arrest him!"

Something sizzled past his ear, killing any thoughts he might have had about stopping to check on the man he'd run into. With another jerk on the handlebars, he righted the zoomer and hit the accelerator hard. This time he went exactly where he intended to go, squeezing between a startled pedestrian and another Krimzon Guard. The guards behind him scrambled to give chase, but on foot they didn't stand a chance. Jak breathed a shaky sigh of relief as their voices finally faded behind him.

_Man, no wonder Krew warned me to stay away from the guards. They completely overreact to everything!_

It had been a complete accident. He'd been trying to get used to the zoomer, testing out its controls, and then he'd found the button that allowed him to change how high or low he was flying. Click. _Whoa!_ A moment of startled wonder as he'd realized that he was now on the same level as all the other flying traffic. Click. _Whoosh! So _that's_ what that button does._

Up. Down. Up. Down. Jak had grinned at the novelty. Up. Down.

"Hey! Watch it!"

The next thing he knew, someone was shooting strange bolts of what looked like red eco - only it acted more like _yellow_ eco, the way it made things explode - and Jak was forced to run for his life. He huffed at the memory. _Didn't even let me apologize._

Seeing that there was nobody immediately in front of him, Jak risked a quick look at the round screen centered between the handlebars. That was another novelty. Not only was there a faintly glowing map on the screen, but there was also a blinking dot indicating the place he was heading for and a triangle that told him his own position. Apparently Krew had made an extra effort to make sure he didn't get lost. Which, he realized as he looked at the screen, was exactly what he would be after that chase through the city.

_No problem,_ he reassured himself. _I'm here. The Water Slums are there. I just need to-_

"There he is!"

"After him!"

The blond jumped like a scalded jungle toad, head whipping around as he tried to spot his pursuers. _What the-? How'd they-?_ He didn't have time to finish the thought as two Krimzon Guards mounted on zoomers dove through the traffic and began firing at him. Jak's eyes widened. _Oh shoot!_

Without thinking, he hit the accelerator again, practically jamming the thing in his haste to reach top speed. The zoomer shot forward, and it was all Jak could do to keep from crashing into anything as he careened down Haven City's streets.

"Stop the vehicle!"

_No way!_ He shifted the zoomer up into the air traffic, having no desire to run into any hapless civilians. Of course, the air wasn't all that much better, as clogged as it was with vehicles, but at least they all seemed to move in patterns. If he was careful, he could weave between the "lanes."

Then, just as he felt he was beginning to get a feel for how the zoomer handled, something in the ground rose up and swiveled to point right at him. Jak only had one panicked moment to register the two giant guns on its roof before instincts kicked in and he dove back down into the pedestrian traffic. Not a moment too soon, as twin jets of red-yellow eco blazed right through the place that he'd been. People screamed and scattered, but Jak barely paid them any attention, too busy trying to save his _own_ skin. He gritted his teeth in frustration.

_Darn it, what is _wrong_ with these people?_ In some twisted, bizarre fashion, he could understand why the Krimzon Guard was shooting at him. He'd done something wrong, even if it had been an accident, and he most definitely wasn't cooperating. Their response, while completely over the top, was at least somewhat warranted. But this? _They could hurt innocent people, shooting into crowds like this! Don't they care?_

Apparently not, because both the turret and the guards on zoomers continued to fire at him regardless of what they might hit when he inevitably dodged. Jak's ears laid back against his head as he scowled. _I need to lose them._

Spotting a side street coming up, Jak abruptly swerved into it. The turret was stationary, which meant that all he had to do to get it to stop shooting was get out of its line of sight. Unfortunately, the guards were not so easily taken care of.

"Get out of the vehicle!" one of them shouted at him. Jak rolled his eyes. They should have long since realized that he had no intention of doing anything they said.

"Just shoot him!" the other guard snapped. Well, one of them seemed to have caught on at least. He'd also given Jak plenty of warning to dodge his next burst of fire, which he did by shifting back up into the higher lane of traffic.

The chase continued for several minutes, with Jak weaving up and down and in and out, narrowly avoiding so many collisions that he lost count, but it was only a matter of time before one of the guards managed to land a lucky hit. The zoomer shook under the blast and every one of the lights on its control board flickered out, leaving the thing unresponsive under Jak's hands. A second blast to the tail fin sent the thing spinning out of control. Jak's eyes widened and he tried to jump out of the seat before the zoomer crashed, but someone else, another hapless flier, crashed into him first. Jak cried out as pain ripped down his back, and then he was falling...

Falling...

_Splash!_

The world turned cold and black.

-o-

_Sand. Lots and lots of sand. It was everywhere. Someone was holding his hand, but it was too bright to see who. All he could see was sand._

He shivered, though something told him that he should have been hot. The hand holding his tightened its grip. It should have been warm, too, but it wasn't.

So cold.

_Cold and... wet? That wasn't right. The desert was never-_

Jak opened his eyes. Water swirled around him, soaking his clothes as it leeched the warmth from his skin. He must have inhaled some of it, too, leaving his body racking with a fit of coughs. Somehow, he found himself clinging to a wooden pole, one of many that rose from the water and supported a wooden roof.

No, not a roof, he realized. Footsteps thudded overhead and voices drifted down to him.

"...lost sight of him." That was one of the guards that had been pursuing him, or someone who sounded a lot like him. It was hard for Jak to tell, what with the way their helmets distorted their voices.

"Continuing sweep..."

Jak held his breath and waited for what seemed like an eternity before swimming out from under the walkway. Despite the cold water, his back felt like it was on fire. His groan as he hauled himself up onto the platform drew a few looks from the people that trudged by, but again, no one stopped to help him.

But they didn't call the guards back, either. That, Jak decided, was enough to leave him grateful. He sat there for a moment, just dripping and catching his breath, before finally standing up and taking a look at his surroundings. He was in a part of the city that had no streets, only stagnant water and the rickety walkways that ran from house to house. The houses themselves were ramshackle and rundown, looking ready to fall apart at the slightest provocation. A tall, imposing wall ran along two sides in the distance. With a start, Jak realized exactly where he was. _The Water Slums!_ In spite of everything that had just happened, a grin spread across his face. _I made it._

Of course, making it back might not be so easy, especially now that he'd lost his zoomer. Whatever was left of it after the crash had probably sunk below the water. Still, so long as he secured the package he'd been sent after, he figured Krew wouldn't mind if he took a little longer finding his way back.

His back still stung, but he had no idea how bad the injury really was. Unable to get a proper look at it, he reached back with his hand and gingerly explored the area, wincing when his fingers encountered torn fabric and flesh. He quickly rethought that idea.

But he was still standing, there wasn't a pool of blood at his feet, and the pain was at least bearable. _I've had worse,_ he finally decided. _I just need some clean water and a bit of green eco._ Neither prospect seemed too likely in this place, though, so he shrugged and started making his way down the walkway. He'd have to deal with his injuries later. _Let's see... If I remember the map correctly, that one's the northern wall._

None of the walkways made a straight line toward his intended destination - or anywhere really, for that matter. Many doubled back on themselves or dead ended, and the ones that seemed to go where he wanted usually branched off in some other direction. It was hard to tell which path he wanted to be on. He ended up having to backtrack several times before he finally found himself on a walkway that took him to the wall.

It was just as Krew had described it, a giant pipe with a metal door that opened when he approached it. There was a room beyond it and another door, one that waited until the first door had fully closed before it opened for him, too. _I guess that helps make sure Lurkers don't get in the city,_ he theorized. _Pretty good idea._

The moment he stepped outside, he was instantly hit by a wave of familiarity. The sandy beach, the tall palm trees, the sparse grass and the ferns - if it weren't for the large metal structure that loomed up before him, he would almost have sworn he was back on Sentinel Beach. He half expected to see blue eco sparkling above the sand.

With a sigh, he shook his head. _This must be the Pumping Station._ Which meant that his search could now begin. In his head, he reviewed what Krew had told him. He had a basic description of what to look for, and he knew that the person who had been carrying the package had been flying when he'd been shot down. _It could be anywhere,_ he realized. _But... if _I'd_ been the one flying, and if someone had been shooting at me, I think I'd most likely head... over there._ With his newly gained knowledge of evading pursuit on a zoomer, that narrow passage between cliffs and pipes looked like a good place to lose someone trying to tail you.

The youth started forward slowly, scanning the ground along the way and lifting the leaves of every fern he passed. He even looked up in the trees to make sure it hadn't fallen and gotten stuck in one of the branches. Every once in a while, he found a trail of strange footprints in the sand, but no sign of whatever creature had made them. Probably just as well. He didn't really want to tangle with any Lurkers or hostile wildlife.

The first clue he found was a scrap of metal glinting in the afternoon sun. He picked it up and brushed off the sand, turning it over to get a good look at it. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions, but he thought it looked like a scorched and torn zoomer fin. A quick search of the ground soon revealed other, similar pieces, and a section of the cliff next to him was deeply scored and scraped. _He ran into the wall here and lost a few pieces of his zoomer, but this isn't where he went down._

There wasn't much of a trail to follow - the guy had been flying, after all - but what there was was enough to give Jak a general direction, which he gladly followed. He pushed his way through a stand of ferns, their leaves torn by the uncontrolled passage of something large.

And then he spotted it. There in the dark gap between a metal wall and some sturdy trees, something golden gleamed. Lips curving upward in triumph, Jak headed straight for his target.

It wasn't until the darkness growled that he realized how very wrong he was. Jak yelped and jerked back as something full of claws and teeth lunged at him from the shadows. Through sheer luck he managed to avoid the full force of its attack, but its claws still grazed his arm, easily shredding the skin. Only the months of experience he had with fighting Lurkers kept him from doubling over and clutching his arm to his chest as pain blossomed in the limb. Instead, he lashed out with his foot while the creature's back was turned. The creature stumbled and whirled around to face him, snarling with pain and anger. Again it threw itself at him.

But this time Jak was ready. While the thing was still in midair and unable to dodge, he launched his own attack, a powerful punch straight to its face. The creature howled and staggered back, but Jak just hit it again, his fist crunching into its forehead right below the strange yellow gem that had first caught his attention.

Then something odd happened. The gem popped right out of the creature's head, and as soon as it did, the creature flopped to the ground, lifeless. Thick globs of dark purple blood leaked out of its body, crackling with electricity. With a chill of shock, Jak realized what that electricity was. _Dark eco!_ No wonder it had attacked him. The dark eco must have driven it mad.

Feeling somewhat shaky from blood loss and adrenaline, he sat down in the sand and took a look at his arm. Blood poured freely from the long, though thankfully shallow gashes, and pain throbbed in time with his pulse. This at least he could tend to, though. With strips of fabric torn from the hem of his shirt, he awkwardly started to bind the wound. It really would have been good to at least rinse it off, but he didn't trust the slightly murky water. Oh well. This would have to do for now. He grimaced and stood up, determined to continue his search.

But all thoughts of Krew's package flew from his head as two more of the red-tan creatures loped into view. The things never stopped to consider their fallen companion. As soon as their eyes landed on Jak, they snarled and barreled across the sand, faster than the teen could ever hope to outrun. Jak's blood ran cold. _Oh crap._

The first one lunged at him, but instead of meeting its attack with one of his own, Jak jumped into the air and let it sail under him. With a spin as he came down, he knocked the second one back, not hard enough to really injure it, but at least it gave him some breathing room. The reprieve was short lived, though, with the first creature wheeling around as soon as it realized that it had missed. As it snapped at his legs, Jak drove his knee up into its chin. The creature grunted and pulled back.

_Their gems!_ He grasped at the memory of the first creature's death. _Their gems are their weakness. That's where I've got to hit them!_ Unfortunately, he didn't get to act on this plan because the second monster had already recovered from his weak kick. It swiped at him with those long, vicious claws, forcing him back to the water's edge. His foot splashed on his last step backwards.

He was trapped.

And now both monsters were lunging at him at the same time. Jak desperately tried to jump out of their way, but his foot came down on something flat and hard with sharp edges that shifted awkwardly beneath him. With a cry, Jak went down.

In the end, that was probably what saved him. One creature's claws raked across his ribs as he fell, and the other's teeth managed to snag a mouthful of his tunic, but the instant he hit deep water, they snarled in frustration and retreated back to the water's edge. There they waited as Jak righted himself and forced his legs and arms to tread. The saltwater burned, bringing tears to his eyes, but he knew he had to focus on the threat at hand if he wanted to survive.

_Maybe if I wait here long enough, they'll get bored and go away._ The thought had barely crossed his mind before he dismissed it with a rough shake of his head. Who was he kidding? Both he and the monsters knew he had to come out of the water eventually, and _he_ would be the one exhausted from treading water, not them. Experimentally, he tried swimming farther up the shore. That plan died, too, when they just followed him. _Darn it, what do I do?_

Again, his thoughts drifted to those strange yellow gems. They were a weakness, if only... With a flash of inspiration, he dove under the water, a plan forming in his head. He groped blindly at the ocean floor, unable to see with the saltwater stinging his eyes, but there were plenty of rocks for his fingers to grab onto. It was only a matter of time before he found one that was the right size.

Surfacing with a gasp, he quickly reoriented himself, then swam as close to the shore as he dared. As his feet brushed against rocks and sand, the monsters tensed and leaned forward in anticipation. But he had no intention of getting _that_ close to them. Once his feet found purchase, he hauled back and let the rock fly.

_Crack!_ The creature Jak had aimed at didn't even have time to bark in pain as its gem was knocked clean out of its head. Just like the first one, it was dead before it hit the ground. Jak let out a shaky breath of relief. It had worked. This plan could work. He only had one monster left to deal with. _I can handle that._

Taking a deep breath, he ducked back under the water in search of another rock. When he came back up, he blinked the water out of his eyes and took careful aim.

A blast of electric light slammed into the monster's side before the rock even left his hand.

"Damn, cherry. And here I was actually _worried._"

Jak's head snapped to the right, eyes widening in surprise. There was Sig, grinning at him from the shore and holding his gun in both hands. The brown-skinned warrior shouldered his weapon, then started wading into the water. "Two out of three Metal Heads all on your own? Not bad, rookie. Not bad."

And despite the cold water and the sting of his injuries, despite the shock that he knew would be settling in, Jak found himself grinning back.

_Yeah,_ he thought as he reached out to take Sig's hand. _Not bad at all._

**-End Chapter Three-**


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

**-Chapter Four-**

As Sig pulled a first aid kit out of a compartment in his zoomer, Jak sat down on a rock and tugged off his tattered and blood-soaked shirt. What lay underneath wasn't pretty and definitely warranted immediate attention.

"Damn, chili pepper," Sig murmured. "You sure know how to make a mess of yourself." Though to be honest, for a scrawny little teenager to take on three Metal Heads with only his wits and his hands, the fact that he wasn't dead was remarkable enough. Jak had not only survived, he'd done so still able to move and function. Hell, he probably could have taken out the third Metal Head if Sig hadn't stepped in. Sig couldn't help but be impressed.

Opening up the first aid kit, he reached for a wad of gauze and the bottle of antiseptic. "I ain't no doctor," he warned the kid. "And I ain't gonna lie. This is gonna hurt like a bitch."

Jak's ears twitched at the warning, but he just nodded and started peeling off the makeshift bandage on his arm. Sig's estimation of him rose up a notch. He quickly doused the gauze with antiseptic and set to work daubing at the torn flesh on Jak's back. The blond hissed, clenching his hands into fists, but otherwise held still. _Not his first time doing this,_ Sig noted. Faint scars on his back spoke of past injuries, backing up that theory. _Might not be his first time tangling with Metal Heads, either._ Remembering the deadly accuracy of that thrown rock, he silently added, _Sure knew how to hit them where it hurt._ It was really starting to make him wonder.

When he moved down to Jak's ribs, the teen sucked in a sharp breath and squeezed his eyes shut, his expression twisting with pain. His whole body was trembling with the effort to hold still. Well, Sig _had_ warned him. He deftly and efficiently cleaned the cuts, knowing that speed would be more appreciated than any futile attempts at "gentleness."

Once the last of Jak's cuts had been sterilized, Sig put the antiseptic back in the first aid kit and removed a small packet of green eco gel. There wasn't anywhere near enough of the stuff to heal Jak completely, but it would get the worst of the damage mending. The kid could live with the rest, especially if he was as resilient as the Wastelander was starting to suspect. He tore a corner off the packet and applied it sparingly.

He nearly swore when the stuff _danced._ Not the gel itself, but the eco trapped within. _What the hell?_ He blinked, but it wasn't his imagination. Tiny flecks of green light freed themselves from suspension and swirled briefly around the boy, ruffling his yellow-green hair like an unseen breeze before disappearing into his body. Jak sighed appreciatively and opened his eyes.

_O...kay..._ Uncertain what to make of that display, Sig decided to file it away to think about later. Right now he needed to finish binding Jak's wounds. More bandages came from the first aid kit, and in short order he declared Jak ready to go.

"We can have someone change the bandages later," he commented as he put everything away. "Apply more eco if they've got it. C'mon, cherry, on the zoomer. We've got places to be."

Jak glanced at him, but instead of doing as he was told, he headed straight for the water's edge. Sig impatiently opened his mouth to ask him what he was doing, then stopped when he saw Jak bend down and fish something out of the water. It was a box of some sort, small and yellow and still sealed tight.

_Krew,_ Jak mouthed, turning to look at him.

Krew's box. The package he'd been sent to retrieve. Sig had forgotten about that. With a grimace, he nodded at Jak's expectant face. "Yeah, fine, we can stop by Krew's place. Now get on." He'd been hoping to go straight to Damas, but he couldn't fault Jak for wanting to finish what he'd started - especially since this was Krew they were dealing with. The fat crime lord had a history of being... vindictive with people who didn't come through. That was one of the reasons Sig made sure he never failed a mission.

Satisfied with the promise, Jak wrapped the box in the remains of his tunic and tucked it under one arm, then mounted the zoomer behind him. Sig spared a moment's thought to wonder what happened to the zoomer Krew had given the kid, but if Jak wasn't protesting leaving it behind, chances were it wasn't in any condition to fly. Oh well. He doubted Krew would care. It was probably stolen anyway.

As they flew back through the city, Sig took special care not to draw any attention. Not that he did on a normal day, but with an injured passenger on his ride, he didn't want to take any risks. The sun was setting by the time they pulled to a stop in front of the Hip Hog.

Despite the bandages and the eco, Jak moved stiffly as he slid off the zoomer. Sig caught his arm and steadied him when it looked like he was about to stumble, earning a grateful nod. Together they went inside.

At this time of day the bar was actually somewhat alive. In a city like Haven, where so many people were tired and oppressed, alcohol was one of the few things they could rely on to dull the misery the day, and right now all the drudges were getting off work. Tess was too busy pouring drinks and serving customers to offer them more than a smile and a wave when she saw them, although she did point to something pinned to the wall when she caught Jak's eye. Sig's brow furrowed in confusion when he looked at the scribbled drawing of... was that a kangarat? But Jak just grinned when he saw it.

Seeing no sign of Krew, Sig waited until there was a lull in the flow of customers before he approached the blond barmaid. "Yo, Tess," he greeted her, slapping a few coins on the counter. He wasn't particularly thirsty, but it was best to keep up appearances. He lowered his voice. "You know where Krew is? Jak's got somethin' to deliver."

Tess took the coins and slipped them into a box under the counter. "He's upstairs," she said, keeping her voice equally low. "He said to tell Jak to take the package to a drop box. Doesn't want anyone seeing it." She turned to get the bottles to mix Sig's drink, grabbing a paper while she was at it. "I was supposed to give him directions, but since you're here, you can just take him. Here's your map, Jak. I kept it safe like you asked." Eyeing his bandaged, shirtless, and somewhat damp appearance, she grinned at him wryly. "Looks like a good thing that you did. You all right?"

The teen waved off her concern with a smile, nodding in Sig's direction. Sig snorted and didn't bother to elaborate on his answer. The girl didn't need to know the details of what had happened.

Downing his drink in one swift motion, he set the glass on the counter with a loud _thunk_. "Hate to cut the chatter," he said, "but me an' Jak've got someplace to be. Nice seein' you, Tess, and thanks. I owe you one." He pushed away from the counter, trusting Jak to follow him out of the bar. The kid did, of course, but not before waving goodbye to Tess and grabbing his map from her.

"Come back soon!" Tess called after them.

As they settled back onto Sig's zoomer, Jak shot the older man a questioning look. Sig didn't have to be a mind reader to guess what this one was about. "I'm taking you to see a friend," he explained cryptically, ever careful of what he said inside Haven City's walls. "Might know somethin' about your home."

Apparently, that answer was good enough for Jak. He let the matter drop without any more silent questions, wrapping an arm around the older man's waist as they took off. Sig made a brief detour to his usual drop box, where Jak deposited Krew's yellow package, then the Wastelander headed toward the middle of the port. After he'd been dropped off earlier, he'd told the pilot of the transport that he would be back shortly. The pilot had agreed to wait, but had warned him that he couldn't stay much past sunset. Unfortunately, it had taken him longer to retrieve Jak than he had anticipated. The sun had already dipped below Haven's walls. _Damn, I hope he's there._ Zoomers didn't have the capacity to make it from here to Spargus. Besides making it across the water, the desert sands were _not_ kind to their engines.

And that was assuming that they _didn't_ run into a sand storm.

But luck was with him and the pilot was still there. After a cursory exchange of greetings, Sig locked down his zoomer and loaded it into the back of the transport. The pilot would keep an eye on it for him until he came back to get it, a favor that cost him a little extra, but was worth it in his opinion. It was far too easy and far too common for people to steal zoomers that were left unattended, and Sig had no desire to have to deal with replacing his.

It was on the way to Spargus that exhaustion finally caught up to Jak. With nothing much to do and a long ride ahead of them, the kid curled up against the wall and was out like a light within minutes. Sig took the opportunity to slip the map from his hand and examine it, squinting to see in the cargo hold's dim lighting.

Sandover. Sentinel Beech. Giser Rock. Sig frowned as he scanned the rough picture. None of the names were familiar, and he suspected many of them were misspelled, but... _Damas said that Haven used to be Sandover._ In his mind, he compared the simply drawn geography with his own knowledge of the land. Some of it matched.

But some of it did not. Which left him right back where he'd started. His eyes drifted to the sleeping teenager. _Just where the hell are you from?_

Jak, of course, did not answer. It wasn't until they landed and Sig shook him awake that the kid even stirred, and that was with a faintly vocal groan of protest. But Sig was without mercy. "Come on, cherry. This ain't no place you want to spend the night. Get up."

Cracking a bleary eye, the blond grimaced and reluctantly sat up. Impatient to get into Spargus, Sig gripped Jak's good arm and hauled him to his feet. "We're almost there," he said. "Just got a short walk through the desert. No sense draggin' your heels."

At mention of the word "desert," Jak's ears flicked up and he glanced outside the now-open transport door. There wasn't much to see from this angle, only sand and a few scrub trees, but that didn't seem to dampen his interest. Moving stiffly, but no longer under Sig's prompting, he exited the transport and immediately knelt down to touch the sand. A strange expression crossed his face. Whatever was going through his head, though, he didn't try to express it with his hands, and when Sig reached down to tap his shoulder, he just nodded and stood back up.

Sig didn't bother trying to guess what that was all about. For all he knew, the kid had never seen a desert. It didn't matter. They were almost there. With one eye out for Marauders, he led Jak to the Wasteland city of Spargus.

-o-

Damas knew when Sig came back. Very little happened in his city that he did not know about, and something like the arrival of one of his best warriors and an unknown child was no exception, even under the cover of night. He paced impatiently in his throne room as he waited for them, his mind still churning over what little he'd already learned.

Sandover. Metal Heads. Transport rings. Something was going on here that he didn't like. He could have asked Sig to interrogate the boy without bringing him to Spargus, but the fact that this Jak couldn't speak would leave too much to Sig's interpretation. He trusted Sig, trusted him with his life and the life of his son, but in the face of this unknown, Damas wanted to learn as much as he could firsthand.

The rattle and clank of machinery echoed up the lift shaft, giving Damas plenty of time to stop pacing and compose himself. Sig's helmeted head was the first to appear, then another, much shorter, and topped with yellow-green hair. The boy wasn't facing him, too busy looking around with curiosity to notice the king's presence, but when Sig nudged his shoulder, he turned around.

Damas' heart stopped in his chest. For a moment, all he could see was large blue eyes and round chubby cheeks, green hair that was just beginning to turn yellow from exposure to the sun. Those eyes were turned up to look at him and-

_No._ Furiously, he gave himself a mental shake and dismissed the image of his son. The resemblance was strong, he couldn't deny it, but this boy was far too old. It was coincidence, nothing more.

"King Damas," Sig greeted him neutrally. The way he was looking at him made Damas wonder how much of his momentary shock had shown. He gave a very slight shake of his head. _Later._

"Sig," he returned the formality. Then, reluctantly, he turned his eyes back on the boy. "And you must be Jak."

True to Sig's report, Jak did not say anything, but he smiled and lifted his hand. His arm was bandaged, Damas noted, as was his chest. Splotches of red showed through in some places, testament of the injuries that lay beneath. Damas frowned, then decided to give into curiosity. In this instance, it would serve a purpose.

"What happened?" he asked, meeting Jak's eyes.

Jak blinked and hesitated, then looked at Sig. But just as Sig opened his mouth to answer for him, Damas held up his hand.

"The question was for Jak," he said sternly. "Not you, Sig." He gave the man a pointed look. "I want to hear what he has to say." Sig caught on quickly and nodded. Satisfied, Damas returned his attention to the boy.

Somewhat nonplussed by this turn of events, Jak stood there awkwardly. He looked at Sig again, a question in his eyes, and he pointed at his throat, then at Damas. Sig shook his head and resolutely ignored him.

"Damas asked you a question, cherry. Talk to him, not me."

The teen frowned, one ear twitching with annoyance. It was obvious he didn't realize what Damas was doing. With a sigh, he gave up on trying to get any help from Sig and focused back on the king.

Damas' eyes sharpened as the boy pointed first at the bandages, then curled his fingers into a parody of claws. He bared his teeth in a silent growl and laid his ears back against his head. Once he was sure that he'd communicated that idea, he straightened up and looked at the king expectantly.

"A creature attacked you," Damas obliged him. But he wasn't about to make this easy. "What kind and how many?"

The second question was answered first, but after Jak held up three fingers, he hesitated, eyes darting about the chamber. Finally, he settled on Sig and reached out to tap the man's armor. The Wastelander scowled and moved to swat the boy's hand away, but Jak had already backed off and was now pulling off the goggles he wore on his head. One side had a large red lens with black crosshairs, and it was this side that he placed in the middle of his forehead.

Again he waited, looking more than a little ridiculous.

His point had been made, though, and quite clearly to anyone who lived in the Wastes. "Metal Heads."

Pleased, Jak nodded and put his goggles back on.

Damas pursed his lips as he considered the whole exchange. It had been a test, of course, to see how well Jak communicated without help from others. It also gave Damas an idea of _how_ the boy "spoke." All things considered, he'd done fairly well. But how would that hold up under questions with complex answers?

_Only one way to find out._ "Describe the fight," he demanded. "Tell me how you survived."

Jak frowned and looked at Damas, really looked at him, as though searching for something in his face. Perhaps the boy was catching on. Or maybe he was just stumped and didn't know how to respond. Damas met his gaze steadily. He wouldn't rescind the order, nor would he ask twice.

A minute passed, then Jak lifted his chin and nodded. His eyes flashed with determination. He didn't need to speak to make his next words clear. _I accept your challenge._

It was all Damas could do not to smile.

Taking his goggles off again and positioning the lens back on his forehead, Jak held up one finger. With teeth bared in a snarl, he curled his free hand into a set of "claws" and mimed scratching his bandaged arm. Then, expression returning to normal, he punched his forehead, right below the goggle lens, and as he did so he pulled the goggles away. He made a slicing motion across his neck, then paused.

Damas took his cue to translate. "One Metal Head attacked you and injured your arm," he said. "You responded by striking at its head and knocking out its gem, which killed it. Were you armed?"

Jak shook his head. His hair, no longer held back by the goggles, threatened to fall into his face when he did this, but he pushed it back impatiently and went on. This time he held up two fingers. His eyes flicked to Damas.

"A second Metal Head-"

Jak cut him off with a sharp gesture, then held up one finger, then another.

_Ah._ "Two Metal Heads."

At this point though, Jak hesitated, his brow furrowed in thought. Then his eyes landed on the pools of water in the throne room and he perked up. Moving to stand in front of one of the pools, he held up both fingers again and rushed them toward himself, pantomiming the attack. Then he tapped his bandaged chest. As he did so, he fell back, landing in the water with a splash.

He didn't sit there idly, though, but let go of his goggles and shoved both hands into the water to pull up handfuls of wet sand. This he used to form two lumps on the dry ground, just at the water's edge. Each lump got a pebble stuck in one end. Jak stayed where he was, looking nothing so much as like a little boy playing with water and sand.

A little boy with green hair that flopped in his eyes, and had such a large smile.

It took a supreme effort of will for Damas to ignore the tight pain in his chest and focus on Jak's continuing story.

Jak took a slightly larger rock and pretended to throw it, then guided it toward one of the lumps to knock its pebble out of place. After that, he pointed at Sig, who had been standing silently this whole time. It wasn't a request for Sig to pick up the story, though. Jak held up his arms as though holding a gun. Then he smashed the second lump of sand.

It was an impressive story, assuming it was true - and assuming he was reading it correctly. Damas arched an eyebrow and glanced at Sig. "How much of this did you see?"

Sig shook his head. "I saw him take out the second Metal Head. Nothin' before that."

Good enough. He would ask Sig for details later. "So," he said, turning back to Jak. "You were attacked by both Metal Heads at once. You were injured a second time, then fell into the water. I assume you stayed in the deeper parts where they couldn't follow?" The boy nodded. "Good. That was smart. And you must have a very strong arm to throw a rock and kill a Metal Head from that distance." Strength and intelligence were something to be noted and valued in Spargus, and Damas did it without thought.

But it seemed to take Jak by surprise. Blinking at Damas, he rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed. A shy smile crossed his face.

Finished with his story, Jak climbed out of the pool and gingerly shook the water off. As he did so, Damas ran the "conversation" through his head, analyzing the youth's method of communication. He was good at making himself understood and creative enough to use whatever was on hand to help illustrate. His lack of speech was a handicap, yes, but it was one that he didn't let hinder him. _He shows promising resourcefulness._ It was too bad that he wasn't a Wastelander.

Although, perhaps someday...

Damas didn't allow himself to entertain the thought for long. That was not the purpose for having Jak brought to Spargus. Speaking of which...

He looked at Sig. "Did you explain to him why I asked you to bring him here?"

Sig shook his head. "He slept most of the way, and afterwards, I figured it'd be better comin' from you."

As the two spoke, Jak's brow crinkled with confusion. With a wave of his hand to catch their attention, he reached out to pluck a paper from Sig's hand. Holding it out for Damas to see, he pointed at the bottom and lifted his eyebrows in question. Damas glanced down at it.

It was a map, roughly drawn and labeled. And there, where Jak's finger rested, was the name SANDOVER. Distracted from what he'd been about to say, Damas took the paper, frowning as he realized what was on it. It was impossible. But as he scanned it, he couldn't deny what his eyes saw. Somehow, Jak had drawn things that only the rulers of Haven and a few obscure historians could possibly know about. Many of the names were misspelled, and the geography didn't always match up completely, but there could be no doubt. It shouldn't have been possible.

And yet there it was.

"Oh," Sig said, somewhat chagrined at the reminder. "Yeah. I told the kid you might know about Sandover."

**-End Chapter Four-**


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

**-Chapter Five-**

Jak waited impatiently for King Damas to answer. That _was_ why he was here, wasn't it? For Damas to help him find his home?

But Damas was staring at his map the same way Samos looked at him when he'd done something so astonishingly stupid that words failed him. Disbelief, suspicion, and denial were all plainly written on his face. It was enough to make Jak fidget uncomfortably, especially when he found those intense violet eyes drilling into him. _What?_ he wanted to say. _What is it?_

"This map," Damas said. "Where did you learn about all these places?" Each word was weighted with demand, not only for an answer, but for the absolute and utter truth. _Now._

Jak winced. Somehow, Damas made him feel like he'd done something wrong, like he was once again a little boy who'd been caught poking around in places he shouldn't be. It was a very disconcerting feeling, more so because it wasn't Samos or his uncle chewing him out for some misdeed. In fact, as far as Jak knew, he hadn't _done_ anything. Why was Damas mad?

Feeling awkward and uncertain, he reached out to touch Sandover's name on the map. _This is my home._ He met Damas' eyes, trying to will him to understand. He pointed to himself, then at the map again. _Home. Why wouldn't I know about my home or the places around it?_

If anything, Damas' expression hardened. "You cannot be from Sandover," he said harshly. "You might fool anyone else with that story, but I know Haven's history. Sandover has not been known by that name for three hundred years."

It was like someone had yanked the very ground out from under Jak's feet. He stared. _What?_ That didn't make any sense. Sandover had nothing to do with Haven. Jak had never even _heard_ of Haven before that Precursor ring brought him there. And _three hundred years?_ What was Damas _talking_ about? Jak shook his head in denial. _I don't understand._

"Could there be some other place called Sandover?" Sig stepped in. "If he came through a transport ring, he could've come from anywhere. Maybe there's some other part of the world the Metal Heads haven't destroyed besides Haven, Kras, and Spargus, and we just haven't heard about it 'til now."

Damas grimaced. "Possibly. Although that does not explain the geography on this map."

"We don't know how accurate that map is, Damas," Sig pointed out. "It sure as hell doesn't match completely with what _we_ know. Names can get reused. For all we know, this could all be coincidence."

The glare Damas shot the other Wastelander could have peeled off paint. "I like _that_ theory even less. Dismissing connected things as coincidence is a good way to get yourself killed in the Wastes."

"You're right, it is," Sig said levelly. He crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to back down or be intimidated. "But jumpin' to conclusions before we've looked at all the angles is even more dangerous."

Sig made sense. Even though Jak still felt like he was missing something important, something that the other two were seeing in his map that he wasn't, he could see at least that. They obviously didn't have all the pieces of what was going on here.

Though his mouth twisted like he'd bitten something sour, the king nodded reluctantly. "True. I will have my monks collect whatever maps of the world they possess. We can go over them and compare them to Jak's map to see if anything else fits." Then, coming to an abrupt decision, he gestured toward the lift. "It's late. We can continue this conversation later. Sig, take Jak to a spare room. See that he is given food and water, and fresh bandages if he needs them. I will see you both in the morning."

Jak lifted a hand, preparing a protest that he wasn't tired. He wanted to keep talking and figure this out. He wanted to see the maps of the world and find Sandover. But a heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him. He blinked up at Sig.

The warrior shook his head. "No arguin', cherry," he said. "When Damas gives you an order, you obey it."

Something rebellious rose up inside of Jak. He'd never liked that reasoning, doing something just "because I said so!" He was also getting tired of following Sig like a puppy. It was one thing when he was lost in an unfamiliar world and the man was offering a friendly, helpful hand, but Jak felt like he was finding his feet now. He didn't need to be treated like a child.

He planted his feet and scowled. _No._

Sig grimaced as he realized Jak's intention to fight the command. Still holding onto Jak's shoulder, he leaned forward and glared right back. "Listen to me, and listen to me good, Jak," he said, voice low enough not to reach Damas. "Maybe you don't realize this, but your life is in that man's hands. You don't wanna get tossed out in the Wastes, you do as he says. Right now, you know somethin' he wants to know, but if you cross certain lines, that won't save you. Understand?"

Jak faltered. Sig couldn't be serious, could he? What kind of leader threw someone out just because they didn't do exactly what he said? His eyes were drawn to Damas, but the king's expression was unreadable as he watched Jak and Sig. His arms were folded across his chest and he stood tall and strong. He looked like a warrior to Jak. He looked like a leader. But he didn't look cruel.

Was he really like that?

Taking advantage of Jak's distraction, Sig pulled him toward the lift. The teen stumbled, unprepared, but this time he didn't protest. Unhappily, he realized that he didn't know what to believe.

Maybe some time by himself really was for the best.

-o-

Sig didn't allow himself to relax until Jak was safely in a room with food and water and strict instructions not to leave. For a minute there, he'd felt certain the kid was going to do something stupid, like mouth off to Damas - or whatever the equivalent was for someone who couldn't speak. Damas was a ruler of a hard people, used to dealing harshly with any who stepped out of line. Sig wasn't certain how he would respond to a teenage boy who wasn't a Wastelander, but he didn't want to find out.

_Damn kid's gonna give me gray hair,_ he groused.

After dropping Jak off, though, he didn't immediately go to his own place in Spargus. Instead, he headed back to Damas' throne room, despite knowing that the man had probably meant his orders for Sig, too. Something about that whole conversation bothered him, and it wasn't just Jak.

Damas was still there when Sig got back, sitting hunched on his throne with his chin on his hand, but he didn't look up even when Sig stepped off the lift. He just kept scowling at the water and the remains of Jak's sand Metal Heads.

_So it wasn't just my imagination,_ Sig noted grimly. Something was eating at the Wasteland king, something that had prompted him to end his questioning of Jak before he'd even broached the topic of the Metal Heads. "Damas-"

"You could have warned me," Damas cut him off.

_What?_ Sig opened his mouth to ask what the hell he was talking about, but Damas went on.

"You could have warned me that he looked like Mar."

Sig blinked. "What?"

Damas finally looked at him. The lines on his face seemed more pronounced than ever, and hidden pain flickered behind his eyes. "Jak," he said. "The boy. He looks like Mar. Too old, of course, but..." He gestured toward the water, as though Jak were still there, then let his hand fall into his lap. He was still scowling. "You could have said something."

...so that's what this was all about. "Damas," Sig said slowly, "the last time I saw Mar, kid was barely walking. It's been longer for me than it's been for you. You know that." He'd argued that he wasn't certain he could recognize Damas' son when Damas had first sent him on the mission to find Mar, but there really hadn't been anyone else. At least, no one the king could trust. "Jak's what, fifteen? I can't look at a fifteen year old kid an' say 'oh, hey, he looks like that baby.' You say he looks like Mar, I'll believe you, but I honestly didn't see it."

Silence filled the chamber, broken only by the soft rush of water as it was churned by the wheels beside the king's throne. Damas was a stubborn man, and he had difficulty letting go of things. Especially, Sig knew, when it involved the man's son. It took several long minutes before he grudgingly conceded Sig's point and let the topic drop.

Well, not drop so much as shift focus. "Have you found _anything?_" he asked. His eyes pleaded with Sig. _Give me news of my son._

Sig hated this part of his reports. They both knew that if he'd found any hint of Mar's whereabouts, any clue who had him or if he was even still alive, he would have said so right at the start. But Damas had to ask and Sig had to answer. He shook his head, forcing himself not to look away when disappointment flashed across the king's face. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

Damas didn't respond. He just turned his head, staring at the water, but his eyes saw nothing that Sig could see. Letting out a slow breath, Sig quietly withdrew to the lift. At this point, Damas was best left to his thoughts and his grief.

-o-

Morning couldn't come soon enough for Jak. He didn't know how long he'd slept on the flight to the desert, but it was enough that he woke well before the sun came up. The starlight that filtered through his window was barely enough to see by, so he was forced to sit in his bed and wait. And wait. And wait. It felt like an eternity. By the time the sky brightened, he considered it a very real possibility that he would be as old and gray as Samos.

But Sig had made it _very_ clear that he wasn't to leave his room until someone came to get him. After what had happened the last time he'd left someplace that Sig had told him to stay, Jak was inclined to listen. For now, at least.

The room itself was a spartan affair. On one side there was a cot with a thin mattress and a sheet, rumpled from Jak's restless sleep. An old clay chamber pot sat in the opposite corner. A battered wooden table was the only other piece of furniture in the room, unless he counted the crate he'd used as a chair when he'd eaten his dinner. An unlit torch was attached to the wall by the door, but he had nothing to light it with. Everything else was plain, worn stone.

Somehow, inexplicably, it reminded him of home.

He spent some time looking out the window, enjoying the second story view and the fresh night air. The air was a lot cleaner here than it had been in Haven, and the buildings weren't as crowded together. They _looked_ better, too. No metal or rust, just rough hewn stone and cloth awnings. _I think Daxter would like it here._ He smiled wistfully at the thought of his friend, wondering what the ottsel was doing. He'd be looking for Jak, of course, but what kinds of things and people had _he_ found?

Eventually, he pushed away from the window. Hoping for something to occupy himself with until Sig or Damas or whoever appeared, he began poking around the room. He left the chamber pot alone as both smelly and uninteresting, and looking under the bed revealed nothing but darkness, dust, and cobwebs. The crate, however, yielded unexpected results.

_What are these?_ he wondered, fingering the strange yellow capsules that had been inside. They were about the size of his finger and glowed very faintly, and he could almost swear that they felt like _eco._ Curious, he tried to pry one open.

_Ow!_ Oh, it was eco, all right. Jak sucked on his finger to relieve the sting of the yellow energy. Something had been done to it, changing it slightly to something he hadn't been prepared to absorb, but there could be no doubt. He could feel the warm tingle of the yellow eco swirling around within him.

Eyeing the case full of capsules, a thought crossed his mind. _I bet if I broke open enough of these, I'd have enough eco to fire a blast at that torch._ And that in turn would give him light to see by. That and boredom were good enough reasons to go through with the plan, so he plunked himself down in front of the crate and set to work with a will.

Half an hour later, with dozens of empty shells on the floor, Jak finally felt like he had enough eco collected. He'd have to be careful not to hit the torch directly, or he'd risk blowing it to pieces, but if he hit the stones right next to it, the heat of the blast would do the rest. With yellow energy swirling around him, he took careful aim.

Unfortunately, that was exactly when Damas walked in. The blast went wild as the startled teen jumped, and instead of lighting the torch, it nearly took off the king's head. Damas threw himself to the side with an oath just as the eco shot past his ear, and it went through the door and out of sight. The ensuing explosion said more than enough about what happened to it next.

Slowly, Damas straightened and leveled a dark glare at the still-glowing Jak. "What did you just do?"

Jak cringed. _It was an accident!_ Oh man, where was Daxter when you needed his fast-talking excuses?

Damas suddenly strode forward and grabbed his wrist, holding it up to examine it more closely. Jak felt a moment of panic as the yellow eco tried to jump from his hand to Damas', but the man didn't seem to feel it, even when it passed through his skin.

No, not _through_ his skin. It was going _into_ it. Jak's eyes widened.

_Is he... absorbing it?_ The thought was almost as shocking as the near-accident. Jak had never met anyone else with his talent for manipulating eco. Even the sages could only deal with their one type, and somehow he didn't think that Damas was a yellow eco sage.

When Damas finally released him, his expression was inscrutable. "You can channel eco," he said. It wasn't a question, but Jak felt like a response was expected, so he nodded. It was the simple truth. "Have you handled other types besides yellow?" Another nod. Jak ticked the colors off on his fingers.

_Yellow, red, green, blue, and..._ He hesitated. Light eco was incredibly rare, so rare that almost no one had heard of it. He only knew about it because of his fight with Gol and Maia. If he brought up a fifth eco, Damas would undoubtedly ask questions. Explaining _that_ story without any help would be a lot harder than describing his fight with those Metal Head creatures, and he wasn't certain he _wanted_ Damas to know about light eco. He still didn't know how he felt about the man.

In the end, he decided to stick to just four fingers.

"Hnn." Damas eyed him consideringly. His gaze went to the crate and he raised one naked brow when he saw the drained capsules that littered the floor. Once again, Jak felt like he'd done something wrong - and this time maybe he _had_. Those things probably belonged to someone. He shifted uncomfortably, waiting to be read the riot act.

But Damas didn't blow up at him as Samos would have. Instead he just... turned away. "I want you to clean this mess up," he said as he headed for the door. His voice was stern and brooked no argument. "When you are done, you will find clothes waiting for you outside the door. Change into them and meet me downstairs." The door closed behind him.

Jak blinked. That was it? No threats, no yelling, no nothing? _Maybe Sig was exaggerating about him,_ he thought, cautiously hopeful. He knelt down and started picking up the shells, putting them in the chamber pot for lack of a better place. The task only took him a few minutes, and when he opened the door, he found a neatly folded pile of clothes waiting, just as Damas had promised. Sitting on top of them were his goggles. He'd left them in the water by accident after telling the king his story. Apparently Damas had found them. Jak fingered them, feeling something strange inside his chest.

The clothes were somewhat worn and didn't fit as well as his old ones had, but there was a belt to make up for the looseness of the waist and they were clean. The tunic was brown and sleeveless and the pants were a light tan. There was even a pair of boots. Jak would have preferred to keep wearing the wrappings and leather that had protected his feet up until now, but if Damas had bothered to get him boots, there was probably a reason.

Once he finished getting dressed, he left the room and went down the stairs. He'd barely reached the bottom and spotted Damas waiting when the man tossed him something large and black and bulky. He fumbled it in surprise, nearly dropping the thing, but when he got a grip on it, he found that it was a gun. He stared at it, then at Damas. _What?_

"If you're going to play with bullets," Damas said firmly, "you're going to learn to use a gun. You obviously have no respect for weapons, and that can get you and those around you killed." _As you have already demonstrated._ The words hung unspoken in the air, making Jak wince with chagrin. But he couldn't deny it, and somehow that made it even worse. He almost _did_ kill Damas. The king watched him for a moment, then continued briskly. "Use the strap to holster it on your back. We will see to your training later. Now, come with me."

Jak did as he was told, slipping the dark blue strap over his chest as he trotted after Damas. They didn't head back the way he remembered coming the night before, but went down a different street. It soon became apparent why when they stopped in front of another small building and Damas rapped on the door. The door opened almost immediately and Sig stepped out, dressed and ready despite the early hour. It was as though he'd known that Damas was going to come.

_Maybe he did._ Jak shrugged the matter off as unimportant and waved at Sig. Sig nodded to both of them, though his eyes lingered on Jak's new gun. Damas didn't offer any explanation, though, for which Jak was grateful. Instead he went straight to business.

"I received a report last night about Metal Heads infiltrating the Monk Temple," he said, both his voice and his expression grim and serious. "The monks tell me that this should not be possible. All the entrances are well guarded to protect their secrets. However, there may have been something they overlooked." His full attention turned on Jak, who blinked back uncertainly. "Jak, Sig told me your story about how you arrived in Haven. Tell it to me again, and make certain you are absolutely clear. There may be lives at stake."

**-End Chapter Five-**


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

**-Chapter Six-**

Jak's ears slicked back against his head as the weight of what Damas was demanding sunk in. He didn't understand why his story would be so important, but the intensity of Damas' expression convinced him that he wasn't kidding. He really was depending on Jak's ability to "speak" clearly.

No one had ever relied on him like that before. He'd always had Daxter in those situations where communication counted. Facing it alone now, and knowing that lives could depend on him... Jak swallowed hard, then shoved those feelings away. They'd only distract him at a time when he needed to focus.

_I need someplace to draw._ He glanced at Sig, then knelt down and made a few random squiggles in the sand on the street. He looked at Sig again.

Fortunately, the Wastelander caught on. "I think we should go to the beach," he said, nodding his head in the direction Jak guessed was where the beach was located. "When Jak told me his story, he needed to draw pictures. Wet sand'd be good for that."

Jak quickly stood up and nodded. A beach would be perfect. He could have tried drawing in the street, but the sand was loose and every time a gust of wind came along, it would obliterate the lines he'd drawn. And that wasn't even taking into account the people walking around. There weren't very many people on the streets right now, but the sun was starting to peek over the horizon. It wouldn't be long before the rest of the city woke up.

"Very well," Damas said, already moving down the street. Jak and Sig fell into step behind him. People nodded respectfully as they passed, moving out of their way when they saw the king. Even with everything that must have been on his mind, Damas still acknowledged these people with a nod of his own. Once again, Jak wondered how serious Sig had been the night before. Wouldn't people show more fear than respect for someone who threatened to throw them out if they didn't obey?

He pushed those thoughts away when they reached the shore. He could think about them later. Right now he had another story to tell.

It took longer to tell it this time than it had the first, despite the fact that Damas already knew the basics. With so much potentially riding on it, Jak didn't want to leave out any details. He carefully spelled out the names of his friends. DAXTER. KEIRA. SAMOS. He tried to be more careful with his drawings, but they still came out awkward. In the end, he resorted to using sticks and sea shells to illustrate some of the events. With many questions from Damas, the story slowly unfolded.

_We used the power cells to power the ring._

We just wanted to see what was on the other side.

Precursor technology likes me. I touched the machine and it responded. I don't know why. Then the ring opened and...

Jak faltered. The monster - Metal Head? - had said things when it tried to come through the ring. It was easy to communicate events and ideas, but actual strings of words were another matter entirely. Somehow, though, this felt important. He needed to try.

With a look of intense concentration on his face, he stuck his finger in the sand, not to draw, but to write. LASS RIFF GATE HAS BEEN OPEN. He tried to remember exactly what the monster had said, but everything had happened so fast, and when that thing had appeared, they'd all started panicking. _Come on, Jak, think! What did it say?_

It had been... talking to him? That's what it had felt like at the time, though what it had said hadn't made any sense. He hadn't been hiding at all. He- Memory flickered and the monster's words returned to him. He scrawled them out letter by careful letter, then pointed at the picture of the monster to make sure Damas knew that it was the one talking.

YOU CAN NOT HID FRUM ME BOY.

Damas stopped him from continuing with an uplifted hand. "The lass riff gate," he read, frowning. "That makes no sense."

Jak grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. He'd had to guess at the spelling on a few of those words. _I probably got something wrong._ Or maybe he wasn't remembering what the monster said correctly. _Darn it, I should have listened to Samos._ The Green Sage had warned him that he'd regret not paying attention. Jak hadn't taken his threat seriously. Really, what could possibly happen if he didn't know how to spell? A scenario like this had never crossed his mind.

"The lass riff gate," Damas repeated, more to himself than to Jak. "The lass..." He looked at Jak sharply. "The _last rift gate?_"

Jak's ears flicked up, catching the emphasized t's. He went over the memory in his mind again, then nodded. _Yeah. I think that's it._

"What the hell is a rift gate?" Sig asked, to which Jak shrugged. He was just repeating what the monster said.

"Possibly another name for a transport ring," Damas speculated. "Though why the Metal Head would refer to it as the last is a mystery." He looked at the words again, speaking them aloud as he read them. "'The last rift gate has been opened. You cannot hide from me, boy.'"

"Most Metal Heads can't speak," Sig said, sounding troubled.

"Indeed." From Damas' tone of voice, he didn't like it either. "I can count the number of those that I've heard of on one hand, and they have all been high ranking." His violet eyes pierced Jak's. "It was talking to you?"

Jak hesitated, then shrugged his shoulders with his head tilted. _Maybe?_ It certainly hadn't been talking to Keira or Samos, and most people didn't refer to Daxter as a 'boy' now that he'd been turned into a fuzzy animal. He just had no idea why it would have been talking to him.

"And you'd never seen this creature before?" Damas pressed.

The teen shook his head. He was pretty certain he would remember something like that.

"Hnn." The king's lips thinned as he considered all of this. "What happened next?"

There was very little of the story left to tell, and it only took a few minutes to get it across. When he was finished, Jak sat back in the sand and waited for Damas to tell him why it had been so important.

The man fingered the seaweed ring he'd made to represent the gate. "If Metal Heads are using transport rings, that could explain how they got inside the temple." All traces of thoughtfulness abruptly vanished from his face, replaced by grim determination as he rose to his feet. "Sig, I want you to take a group of warriors to the temple and assist the monks in clearing the place out. Have them disable or block off the transport rings. Jak, you will be coming with me."

Sig acknowledged the order with a nod. "Want me to bring you back some Metal Head gems?" he asked, flashing a brief, cocky grin.

Damas smiled thinly. "The more the better."

If anything, Sig's grin only became wider. He gave a brief salute, then started up the beach, pausing only to rest a hand on Jak's shoulder. "Take care o' yourself, chili pepper. Remember what I said, an' keep your ass out of trouble." He didn't wait for a response before letting go and continuing on.

Which left Jak alone with Damas. He stood up and looked at the older man, a question in his eyes. _What are we going to do?_ The way the king had spoken had made it sound like he had something specific in mind.

At first, Damas didn't say anything, but after a moment, he clasped his hands behind his back and gave Jak an odd look. It was almost as though he was weighing him somehow, judging him by what he saw. The teen shifted self-consciously.

"You are not a Wastelander," Damas said suddenly. "But in the desert, you are either useful or dead weight." This was said with the firm conviction of a much-repeated truth. He hesitated, then lifted his chin, eyes glinting with steely resolve. "There is a task that I must do that would be easier with your help. However, if you come with me, you must swear never to speak of this with _anyone._" His eyes drilled into Jak like augers, demanding absolute obedience. "I do not care the method of communication. _Nothing_ must be repeated. Do you understand?"

It was impossible not to feel intimidated, but it was nothing compared with the strong desire to help that had been rising in Jak since the first mention of trouble in that temple. Determination made him lift his own chin and meet Damas' eyes stubbornly. _I promise,_ he said silently, placing his hand on his chest. _Now tell me what to do._

-o-

Even after obtaining Jak's agreement, Damas wasn't certain that he wasn't making a mistake. But the boy represented a rare opportunity, something he hadn't expected to have until his own son was grown. It would be foolish not to take advantage of it, especially in the current situation.

He didn't speak again until they were back inside his throne room. "What many people do not realize," he said as he moved toward his throne, "is that Spargus and the Monk Temple are connected. They are aware that the monks serve us, but they do not know in what capacity." Reaching behind the chair, his slipped aside a cleverly concealed panel and pressed a button. Nothing obvious happened, which was what he expected. He pushed the panel back in place.

Curiosity and confusion were plain on Jak's face as Damas led him back to the lift. Damas didn't bother to explain what he had just done. It would be more than apparent in just a minute. He went on. "The Monk Temple is located to the south of us in an area that is difficult to reach. Most people see no reason to try."

The lift rattled and clanked as they went down... and down... and well beyond the point where it would have normally stopped. What had previously appeared to be solid dirt had actually been a buried panel that slid aside when he had pushed that button. The camouflage would have to be replaced when they came back up, of course, but that was done easily enough, and while they were below, the front door would remain locked.

"What they do not know is that the Monk Temple is located right on top of several eco vents. Eco, as you know, can be used for many things. Bullets, electricity..." He paused and gave the boy a significant look. "Shielding." The lift stopped and he stepped off, expecting Jak to follow. He did, looking around curiously as they walked. They were in a hall now, a hall constructed of warm, coppery stone with strange carvings and glyphs decorating the walls. A soft, steady light lit the area, coming from covered translucent panels that hid Precurian bulbs.

Damas' voice echoed oddly down the empty hall. "When I said that Spargus and the temple are connected, I meant that literally. There are ancient pipes buried underground that bring eco from the temple to Spargus. This eco is used to power a shield much like the one that Mar built around Haven. Our shield is not as good as the one that guards Haven, which is why we also have a gun turret, but for the most part we are protected. This and the strength of its citizens is why Spargus has never been overrun by Metal Heads."

"In return for the service the monks provide, the people of Spargus help protect the temple, both from Metal Heads and from those who would steal the monks' secrets. It is a relationship that has satisfied both sides for many years."

They were at the end of the hall now, a large round door blocking the way. It was a very typical Precursor door, made of metal that had been beaten to look like stone, and it refused to budge when Damas laid his hand on it. This was the last defense for what lay inside the room beyond. On an impulse, he refrained from performing the necessary trick to open it, looking instead at Jak.

"Have you ever seen a door like this?" he asked.

Jak reached out and ran a hand across the curving splits in the metal. He nodded then pointed up at the blue symbol that topped the arch.

"Yes," Damas confirmed. "This door will only open if you are channeling blue eco, which the Precursors conveniently provide for us." He gestured to the side, where a sparkle of blue leaked from a thin metal pipe. "What makes this door so effective is the rarity of our talent." It was still something of a shock for him to find someone who could channel eco who was _not_ of the line of Mar. "Go on, Jak. Open it." It was a final test, to make certain the boy really _could_ channel more than one kind of eco.

All doubt was dispelled when Jak touched the end of the pipe and immediately glowed with blue energy. Then, without hesitation, he slapped a hand on the Precursor door, making sparks of blue shoot out and sink into the metal. The door irised open under his hand.

_Good._ Damas nodded approvingly.

The room beyond was dominated by five thick pipes the same rusty orange color as everything else. The pipes twisted around the room, over the ceiling, and across the floor, making a tangled knot that was impossible to unravel with the eyes alone. The ends of the pipes were easy to find, though. Five colors of light spilled upward from a platform in the middle of the room, swirling together before shooting up a sixth pipe that went straight to the ceiling.

Jak's eyes were wide and staring in absolute and utter shock. He looked at the vents, then at Damas, and held up four fingers. Then, slowly, he raised the fifth.

"Yes," Damas said grimly, thinking he knew what had surprised the boy so. "That is part of why I have sworn you to secrecy. Light eco does exist. It is very rare and very powerful, and _not_ to be played with lightly." He said that last part with a glare of warning.

Jak hesitated, as though that hadn't been what he had been trying to say, but in the end his eyes were drawn back to the five eco vents. Damas took that as his cue to finish his explanation of what they would be doing in this chamber.

"That sixth pipe takes the combined eco and uses it to power the shield." He entered the room, carefully stepping over the pipes. There was no Precursor lighting in this room, only the chaotic glow of eco, making it sometimes difficult to see where to place his feet. Jak followed behind him. When they made it to the platform itself, Damas dropped to one knee and pointed, gesturing for Jak to join him. "See these smaller openings? They lead back to the Monk Temple. Any eco that goes into them can be used to strengthen the monks' defenses. The more that we can send to them, the more they can concentrate on the Metal Head threat. By myself, that amount is not very much, but with your help..."

He trailed off and once again took stock of the boy. This would be asking a great deal of him, especially since he had never channeled light eco, let alone directed all five at once, and he was young. Perhaps too young. Light played off his features in rippling waves of color, turning his hair blond, blue, red.

Green.

It was eerie how easy it was to see in Jak what Mar could be. Even beyond his appearance, the boy shared traits that he'd seen in his son, from his ability to channel eco to his ability to get in trouble when left to his own devices.

Damas shook his head, pushing those thoughts aside as both painful and unproductive. He needed to be careful not to let Jak's resemblance to Mar color his judgment. His expression hardened for a moment. _He is not my son._

"So, do you think you can do this?" Best get back to the matter at hand.

Jak bit his lip as he considered the eco, then hesitantly reached out to dip his hand in the mix. Energy shot up his arm and he gasped, snatching his arm back almost instantly. Still hissing, he shook his hand and wriggled his fingers.

Damas frowned. _He _is_ too young._ "Jak-"

But before he could say anything to call this whole thing off, that stubborn expression crossed the boy's face again and he plunged his whole body in, completely submersing himself in the swirl of energy. Damas tensed, waiting to see what would happen.

Jak stood there for a moment, letting the eco saturate his body. His face tightened in an expression close to pain, and his breathing became somewhat ragged. But he made no move to pull out, and after that moment passed, he knelt down and placed his hands on the ground, right above two of the openings that Damas had pointed out. Damas let out a breath that he had been unconsciously holding as energy poured down the boy's hands.

"Good," he said, this time out loud. "You're doing good, Jak. Keep that up."

Moving to take his place next to the boy, he knelt down as well, fire and ice and lightning and healing filling his veins. Threaded through it all was the unmistakable rush of light eco that made him feel like he could walk on air. It was overwhelming. It was exhilarating. It threatened to scour him clean and leave him bare. There was too much of it, he couldn't use it.

But he could tell it where to go. Just as Jak had done, he let his hands cover two holes. As fast as the energy filled him, he pushed it right back out, serving as a living conduit. Every one of his senses was consumed and he lost track of time...

...until a soft thud next to him drew his attention back to Jak. The boy had collapsed and he was breathing heavily, but though he tried to push himself out of the eco, the effort was too weak. He'd overspent himself. Damas quickly moved to assist him. His own muscles felt more than a little rubbery, but he'd done this enough times that he was used to the feeling.

"Don't move," he commanded as he lifted Jak away from the vents. "Just let the eco fade."

Jak just smiled weakly, as though to say, _Move? You've got to be kidding._ Then his eyes fluttered closed and he turned his head towards Damas' chest before completely passing out.

**-End Chapter Six-**


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

**-Chapter Seven-**

Jak had dreams of sand again, this time without the confusion of cold water. It still didn't make any sense, but it didn't have to. The shadow-man felt familiar, and the warmth was... nice. It was easy to just let his mind drift through the fuzzy images and feelings.

When he woke up, the warmth didn't disappear. _Where...?_ He blinked muzzily and sat up, scratching absently at his chest. With a start, he realized that the bandages he'd been wearing earlier were gone.

"The bandages were no longer necessary." The voice beside him was quiet, almost raspy, but it still made him jump. He whipped his head around to find a... boy? girl? sitting beside his cot. The girl, or boy-

Jak decided to cut a headache off before it started and just mentally labeled the kid a boy. There certainly wasn't anything about him to indicate otherwise.

The _boy_ was staring at him intently, the expression made eerie by the paint on his face that matched his short white hair. Jak raised an eyebrow, then lifted the edge of his tunic to examine his skin. Sure enough, there wasn't a mark to be seen.

"The king says you absorbed a great deal of green eco," the boy answered his unspoken question. "He brought you to the infirmary only so that you could rest while someone kept watch. He was... concerned." Something flickered in the boy's eyes, as though he didn't approve of Damas being concerned about Jak. Or maybe he just didn't approve of _Jak_. It was difficult to read the expression on his face, and his voice was entirely too flat.

The boy held out a glass of water, which Jak accepted gratefully. Bright sunlight filled the room, heating the air to an almost uncomfortable temperature. Jak's throat felt raw and parched. The water was lukewarm, but it felt good as he swallowed. He handed the cup back once he was finished.

_Who are you?_ he asked, raising his eyebrows as he gestured at the boy.

The boy ignored the question. He rose smoothly, his black robes barely making a rustle. "I was ordered to report as soon as you regained consciousness. Do not leave the room." The boy left before Jak could protest.

Jak grimaced. He was getting tired of people telling him to stay put, but it irked even more when it came from someone who didn't look older than twelve. He briefly entertained the thought of leaving anyway, but in the end decided against it. Damas would expect him to be there, and since Damas was the person he wanted to see, it would be easier to wait for the king. He could always explore Spargus later.

As he waited, he let his eyes take in the room. It was larger and had several cots lined up along the walls, two of which were occupied by bandaged figures. Both were sleeping, Jak noted. Maybe that was why the boy had been so quiet, so as not to disturb them. There were also shelves in this room, little more than planks laid across two mounted brackets. Bottles and jars and folded cloth - probably sheets and gauze - sat stacked on those shelves. The whole place smelled faintly of antiseptic. Jak rubbed at his nose.

Someone had taken his boots off, but they were sitting next to his bed, as was his gun. Jak swung his legs over the side and started pulling the boots on. He considered the gun for a minute, then left it where it was. He'd pick it up when Damas came. Until then, he'd just as soon leave the unfamiliar weight off his back.

His thoughts drifted back to that strange Precursor chamber.

_A light eco vent,_ he marveled. _Samos will never believe-_ He stopped that thought right there. Samos would never learn about it, at least not from him. Jak had promised not to tell anyone, and he always kept his word. Still, he wished that Samos was there. The sage bellowed and grumbled and scolded Jak, but he was old and wise and knew a lot of things. If anyone could figure out what was going on, it would be him.

The door opened and Damas entered, followed by the strange boy from before. The boy gave Jak one more dark stare, then got a jar from the shelf and turned his attention to one of the bandaged men. Damas went straight to Jak.

"Good," he said. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"

There were a lot of ways that Jak could have answered that question, but before he could lift a hand to form a response, his stomach decided to speak for him. Loudly. Jak glanced sheepishly at the king. _Sorry. I never did eat breakfast._ He hadn't even thought about food until now. There'd been much more important things to deal with.

The corner of Damas' lips twitched. "I see," he said. "Well, that can be dealt with easily enough." All traces of amusement vanished, then, as Damas sternly looked him over. "Answer the question, Jak. How are you feeling?"

He must have meant something besides physically, because anyone who looked at Jak could tell that he was fine. Better than before, in fact, with his injuries gone. Jak took a moment to look inward and really examine himself, searching for whatever Damas was worried about.

He still felt just a little... _raw_ was the best word he could find to describe it. He'd never tried to channel more than one kind of eco at a time before. Having all five rushing through him at once made him feel like a riverbed during a flood. Even after the eco was gone, parts of him felt thin and bare.

He held out his arm and rubbed his thumb across it hard enough to leave a mark. It was the only way he could think to describe the feeling.

Damas nodded. He probably understood exactly what Jak was saying from his own experience. "That feeling will pass," he said. "Though I would advise you to avoid channeling eco for a time. Now, come with me. You can eat while we go over the maps I had collected."

Jak picked up his gun and followed, more than glad to leave the room. But even with the promise of continuing his search for his home, there was still a question that burned in his mind. _The temple._ He lifted his hand to indicate the picture he'd formed of a very tall building. _Is it all right?_

Unfortunately, the question was met with blank incomprehension. "I do not understand what you just said," Damas said, a flicker of irritation on his face.

Jak sighed, and if he could have, he would have grumbled. _Daxter would have understood._ Considering the context of their conversation, he'd thought the question was pretty obvious. Switching tactics, he formed a circle with one hand and placed it over his eye. _Sig?_

That, at least, Damas could interpret. "No," he said. "I have not yet heard back from Sig. It takes several hours to get to the temple from here, and then the Metal Heads themselves must be dealt with. I do not expect to hear from him for at least another day."

As they stepped outside of the building, the full force of the desert heat hit Jak like a blast of air from the Lava Tube, and the sun itself was so bright, at least in comparison to inside the infirmary, that the teen immediately had to shield his eyes. Waves of heat rose from the ground, making it appear to dance and ripple. Suddenly, Jak was grateful for the boots he'd been given. The wrappings he'd worn on his feet in Sandover had been good and serviceable, but they'd still left his toes bare. Somehow, he didn't think bare toes in _this_ sand would be very comfortable.

They were only outside for a few minutes, but it was long enough to make sweat start to bead on Jak's forehead. When he saw the door that he knew led to Damas' throne room, he thought that was where they were going. However, the king stopped in front of a different door.

"The throne room is not the ideal place to view important documents," he said as he keyed the door open. "This room is convenient both because it is near and it is dry. The maps we want are already on the table. Sit down and look them over. I will be back shortly."

And just like that, Jak was alone in yet another nearly empty room. Trying very hard not to feel cooped up - and silently promising to get out and _explore_ in the very near future - the teen headed over to the large, paper-strewn table and sat down in one of the chairs. It was obvious that Damas had already spent some time poring over the maps. No one who had simply delivered them would have left them in such disarray. There were large maps and small maps, some with color and some that were just lines on paper. Some of them showed the same areas in differing amounts of detail while others were completely unique. Jak let his eyes drift over them, looking for anything familiar.

It quickly became an exercise in frustration.

_That could be Snowy Mountain, but there's no mountain pass near it._ He pushed aside that map in favor of another that had rivers and forests. _But the Forbidden Jungle was near the ocean. I don't see anything like that on here._ Another map. _...I don't even recognize any of these names._

The first map that caught his interest was actually one that had Spargus on it. Nothing on the map resembled his home in any way, of course, but Jak was fascinated nonetheless. Almost the entire continent was mountains and desert, with only two, maybe three places that were populated. _Speaking of places where people live..._ His eyes scanned the map. _Where's Haven City?_ But it wasn't anywhere on the map, which meant that it must be on a different continent. Curious, he started searching for a map that had both continents.

He'd just found what he was looking for when Damas came back in. The man was carrying something wrapped in cloth and a small jug, both of which he handed to Jak. "Sit away from the table when you eat this," he said sternly.

Reminded of his empty stomach, Jak immediately slid his chair back and unwrapped the cloth. Inside it he found a small loaf of bread and a strange, bumpy fruit that he didn't recognize. As hungry as he was, he didn't ask what it was before taking a bite. It was sweet and juicy and reminded him of something he couldn't quite remember. Jak licked his lips appreciatively, then set to work eating the rest of the food, with water from the jug to wash it down. When he was finished, the cloth served double duty as a napkin to wipe his fingers and mouth.

While Jak was eating, Damas had seated himself at the table, busying himself with looking over the maps. Once Jak scooted his chair back up, the man slid two pieces of paper toward him. One of them was the map that Jak had drawn. The other... "This is the map I found that looks the most like yours," he said. "What do you think?"

Momentarily forgetting about Haven, the teen picked up the second paper. As he examined it, he squinted and tilted his head. Then he tilted the paper. He laid it down next to his map to compare, even though he knew that his map wasn't really drawn that well. _Yeah... I guess I can sort of see how they're similar..._ The names were all wrong, and the north-south symbols were slightly off, but there was a beach with an island just off the coast, a river that ran though a jungle, some mountains to the sort-of-north, and even some swampland. And maybe the person who drew this map wasn't that great, either, and that was why some of the distances between things were larger or smaller than they should be. But...

_There's nothing that could be the Precursor Basin or the Fire Canyon on this map, and I _know_ there's no lake in that area._ Frowning, he pointed out the differences to Damas.

"Hnn." Damas' lips compressed into a thin line. "Keep looking, then."

Jak lost track of time as they sifted through the maps. His eyes began to ache after a while, but progress was made in the form of two stacks of papers, ones that were Definitely Not Where He Was From and others that were Close But Not Quite, Maybe Someone Made A Mistake. So far, though, none had matched his memory of the land around his home. Eventually, he came back to the map with Haven.

_Wait..._ Jak's brow furrowed as he took a closer look. It was almost habit at this point to skip over all the names, but the shape of the coast... and there was a forest... and mountains... Slowly, Jak traced his fingers over the familiar geography.

But even this wasn't exactly as it should have been. There was a canyon, but no mention of lava. There were ruins in a place where Rock Village could have been, but Rock Village had been just fine when he'd seen it only a few days ago. That certainly wasn't long enough for it to appear as ruins on someone's map, even if it had somehow been destroyed.

And that was all ignoring the fact that Haven City was right where Sandover should have been.

"Did you find something?" Damas asked.

Jak huffed his dissatisfaction and shoved the map away. Scowling, he slashed a hand through the air. _This isn't working. _None_ of these maps look right._

Taking in the boy's irritation, Damas set down the map that he'd been looking at. He gave Jak a level look. "Getting frustrated does nothing productive, Jak, and will only hinder your efforts."

_My efforts are already hindered,_ Jak thought peevishly. Feeling restless and tired of sitting at the table, he got up and began pacing. _There's got to be a map that's missing. Even the ones that are close can't be right. Why would someone rename all those places when _those aren't their names?_ Maybe Samos would-_

A hand fell on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. Jak blinked up at Damas.

"Perhaps," the king said, "we should do something else."

-o-

Killing Metal Heads, it turned out, was exactly the kind of release that Sig needed. The Wastelander grinned viciously as his Peacemaker blasted one of the ugly creatures to nothing more than a stain of blood and dark eco. "Boom, baby, boom."

A flash of light from across the room and a shriek that ended abruptly signaled the death of another Metal Head. "Right, then," his current partner called out. "I think this room's clear. Let's move on."

"Wait." Sig held up his hand. The other man frowned and opened his mouth, but Sig shot him a glare that shut him up. Profound silence filled the room.

Except...

_There it is. I _knew_ I heard somethin'._ Adjusting his grip on his gun, the big man crept forward as slowly and quietly as death itself. It wasn't until he reached the corner of the room that he lunged forward, smashing the one unbroken pot that had managed to survive the fight.

"Gyah! Don't shoot! Don't shoot!"

Startled by the thin, high voice, Sig pulled up short, his Peacemaker poised inches from the quivering form of something orange and fuzzy that was most definitely not a Metal Head. He didn't lower his gun, though. Just because it wasn't a Metal Head didn't meant it wasn't dangerous. "You so much as twitch funny an' you'll be breathin' from a new mouth," he threatened the thing. "Now who and what are you, and what the hell are you doing here?"

Slowly, as though the thing couldn't believe it was still alive, the whatever-it-was uncurled enough to peer up at Sig. Seeing the tip of the gun pointed at its face, it eep'd and suddenly it was like it couldn't talk fast enough. "It was an accident! I swear, it wasn't my fault! Maybe old Green Stuff bumped something, or Keira had the settings wrong, or maybe Precursor artifacts just don't like giant glowy monsters! Everything just exploded an' then I was here and there were monsters everywhere and I _swear_ I will leave if you just tell me how!"

Sig and his partner exchanged glances. "What 'giant glowy monster?'" the other Wastelander asked.

"Dunno," the creature said. "Never seen nothin' like it. Er... d'ya mind not pointing that thing quite so close? I kind of like my nose where it is."

Whatever this thing was, it was easily intimidated. Sig had no qualms about using that to his advantage. With a dark scowl, he shoved his Peacemaker just that much closer. "Answer the questions, chili pepper. Who are you, what are you, and what monster were you talkin' about?"

The creature swallowed hard, nearly going cross-eyed as it tracked the tip of Sig's gun. "Daxter! My name's Daxter, I'm an ottsel, and like I told you, I don't _know_ what that monster was. It just tried to pop out of that Precursor ring when we turned it on. I swear that's all I know!"

Sig stilled, his one good eye widening just a fraction. _What?_

Suffering no such shock, his partner snorted at the self-proclaimed ottsel. "Right. That's a likely story. I'll bet-"

Sig cut him off. "Your name's Daxter?" he demanded. He ignored the annoyed look the other man shot him.

Daxter's eyes darted nervously from one man to the other, then finally settled on Sig. He nodded. "Yeah. That's what I said."

The creature's name, the babble about Precursor rings and artifacts, the story of a monster that tried to come through - it all matched up too neatly. It couldn't be coincidence. But after lecturing Damas on the dangers of making assumptions, Sig wasn't about to do the same himself. Keeping his face unreadable, he asked, "The name Jak mean anythin' to you?"

Daxter's ears immediately perked up. "Jak?" he echoed. "Blond hair, blue eyes, a little on the quiet side? Yeah, we're best buds. Why d'you ask?"

Feeling something close to a grin slipping across his face, Sig finally lowered his Peacemaker. "Man, and here I thought the kid just couldn't draw."

**-End Chapter Seven-**


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

**-Chapter Eight-**

"Again!" Damas barked. "Keep your gun up when you are firing!"

Jak gritted his teeth and did as Damas said, his arms aching from holding the unfamiliar weight for so long. The sun beat down on him unmercifully, and sand clung to all the sweat on his body. Damas, in contrast, seemed perfectly comfortable. He stood next to Jak, tall and straight, barely batting an eye when the wind tried to blow sand in his eyes.

Sighting along the barrel of his gun, Jak took aim and fired. Yellow eco blazed from the tip in a sharp, thin line, grazing the rock Damas had picked as his target.

Damas scowled. "In battle, it is better to eliminate your enemies from a distance. You _must_ be able to hold your gun steady and aim at a moment's thought, and you must make each shot count. Aim like that will only get you killed. Again!"

It would have been easier if he could have used his goggles, but Damas had forbidden it. _Such things are crutches,_ he had said balefully. _And all too easily lost or stripped from you. It is better that you learn this without it than to have your aim crippled when you need it most._ That made sense, of course, but Jak still longed to pull his goggles down. The rock mocked him from the distance.

It was very satisfying when he finally made it explode, even more so when he saw the smile on Damas' face. Jak grinned back.

"Good," the king said. He rested his hand on Jak's shoulder, but it was only for a moment before he was stern and all business again. "Metal Heads often travel in packs. They will swarm you if you do not kill them before they reach you. Take a break and drink some water. When you are finished, we will start working on multiple targets."

Guns, Jak mused as he gratefully sat down, were actually a lot of fun. Unscrewing the cap from his water skin, he put it to his lips and drank - slowly, as Damas had said. Damas was a good teacher, even if he was very strict, and his praise was rare and always hard earned. Somehow, though, that made it even more worth it.

But the gun itself... It was like being able to carry yellow eco and not worry about it fading before he needed to use it. He couldn't count the number of times that would have been useful in the past. Of course, he could still run out of bullets, but that was only after _using_ them. _I wonder if Damas will let me keep it after I leave Spargus._ It was definitely something to think about asking.

Feeling a lot better after drinking his fill, Jak stoppered the water skin and hung it back on his waist. He stood up and made a halfhearted attempt to dust the sand off his clothes, but quickly gave it up as a lost cause. They were actually out in the Wastes, still within sight of the city's walls, but far enough away that they wouldn't have to worry about what he might hit. It also meant they didn't have any protection from the gusts of wind that did their best to drive sand into their skin. Anything Jak brushed off would only get blown right back on in the next few minutes. Gun in hand, he went to see what Damas was doing.

While Jak had been resting, the other man had been climbing the rocks, setting up melon-sized boulders that could probably hold up against several blasts from Jak's gun. Seeing that Jak was done, he gestured for the boy to join him. "As I said, you will be working with multiple targets, but I also want you to improve your speed. Aim and fire as fast as you can without sacrificing accuracy. I have positioned your targets to simulate an attack from all sides." He pointed out each boulder, five in total, then positioned himself on top of a tall outcropping that would keep him out of Jak's line of fire.

If this had been a real attack, Jak probably would have been dead many times over. Well, unless he abandoned the gun and resorted to his traditional tactics. Even then, with five enemies, the outcome would have been in question. But with the time it took him to aim and fire at one of the targets, the other four "Metal Heads" could have gotten close enough to chew his legs off - and his first shot didn't even hit dead center. Jak grimaced and forced himself to continue, shooting one rock, then another, then whirled around to face one of the rocks behind him. His next shot missed completely.

Damas observed all of this from above, his brow furrowing deeper into a scowl with each of Jak's mistakes. "Again!" he snapped when Jak finished the first round. "Concentrate! One glance is all it should take to know where your enemy is, and in battle you will have only a moment to act on that information. You must be fast!"

But going for speed turned out to be an even worse mistake. Four of his five rapidly fired shots went wild, and the fifth only hit by luck. Jak winced at the disgust in Damas' next shout of "again!", knowing he deserved every bit of it. _Concentrate,_ he told himself, unconsciously echoing Damas' command. _If I was channeling eco, I'd have no problem aiming and firing quickly. This isn't _that_ different._ Irritated at his poor performance, he lifted his gun and took aim.

The next few runs were better, but part of that Jak knew was because he was memorizing the locations of his targets. Finally, Damas called a stop to the exercise.

"That's enough," he said, dropping down from his perch. "I have other duties to attend to inside the city. You have done well, Jak." He paused, giving the teen a stern look. "For a first lesson. You still have much to learn."

Jak rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead, trying to keep sweat from trickling into his eyes, then nodded and patted his gun. _I'll practice_, he promised. He hesitated, then pointed at Damas, then at the rocks. _Can we do this again sometime?_ Maybe it was childish of him, but Damas' teaching _meant_ something to him, something more than just learning how to use a gun. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. He just knew that it felt right.

Damas was silent long enough that Jak began to wonder if he'd been clear enough in his question. But the man didn't ask him to clarify, either. Jak shifted uncomfortably as he waited for an answer. _Maybe I shouldn't have asked._

"Tomorrow," Damas said suddenly. "I will arrange some time tomorrow for another lesson. Now, come. It is time we returned to Spargus." Without waiting for Jak to respond, he turned and headed for the city's gate.

_Tomorrow._ Jak couldn't help the smile that pulled at his lips. It didn't matter that he was tired, dirty, and possibly even sunburned. Even as he followed after Damas, his thoughts were already on what they would do the next day.

-o-

"Yeesh." Daxter grimaced as he scooted past the remains of another Metal Head corpse - freshly gutted courtesy of Kraven's knife. "These things're even uglier on the inside than they are on the outside. I didn't think that was possible."

"You want to see ugly?" Kraven snarled. "Touch my gun again and it'll be _your_ belly I slit open."

"Hey, it's not _my_ fault you dropped it!" the furball retorted. He'd lost a lot of his fear since his first encounter with the two Wastelanders, and now he had no problem with back talking either of them. "I was just tryin' ta help!"

"Help, my ass! You nearly took my head off with your so-called 'help'!"

"If you hadn't moved-"

"Would you two pipe down?" Sig snapped. "In case you cherries have forgotten, we're on a mission here. Daxter, shut up. Kraven, ignore the talking rat."

"Hey!" Daxter's fur spiked with offense. "The term is ottsel. Ott-sel! I am not a talking rat!"

"You'll be _dead_ if you don't do as I say." Sig scowled and jerked his thumb in the direction of the Metal Head corpse. "Makin' noise like that, you'll bring every Metal Head in this temple down on our heads."

Wiping his blood-slicked knife on a scrap of cloth, Kraven shot the ottsel a poisonous look. "I still don't see why we're taking him with us in the first place," the Wastelander growled. "He's loud and useless."

"We're takin' him 'cause I said so, an' if that ain't reason enough, then try _this_." Sig jabbed a finger into the other man's chest. "Damas is gonna want to talk to him."

Kraven knocked Sig's hand away, looking like he'd bitten into a lemon, but even he couldn't argue with something like that. "Fine. The rat stays. But keep him _away_ from my gun."

"For the last time, I am not- Hey! Put me down!" The ottsel flailed as Sig hoisted him up by the scruff of his neck. "Ow ow ow! Watch the fur, big guy!"

Shoving his face so close to Daxter's that their noses nearly touched, the Wastelander glared. "Let me get one thing straight, chili pepper. This ain't no game we're playin' here. Keep. Your trap. _Shut._ I got no qualms about tying you up, gagging you, and strapping you to my back, if that's what it takes. Am I clear?"

Daxter swallowed audibly, hanging limp from Sig's fingers. "Crystal," he said meekly.

"Good." Without another word, he dropped the ottsel and turned to his partner. "C'mon. I wanna be done with this place by nightfall."

Things after that proceeded more or less smoothly. For the most part, Daxter kept quiet and out of their way. It was only when Metal Heads managed to ambush them that things became hairy.

"Get down!" Sig shouted as dark eco blasts blazed over their heads. He dove to the side and whipped his Peacemaker around to shoot the motherless son of an egg sucker that had come up behind them. Daxter, who had been trailing behind him, nearly got fried in the process.

"Gyah! Watch where you're shooting!"

Sig ignored him. He had more important things to worry about than a little singed fur - like the fact that his shot had missed. "Kraven!"

"Already on it!" Blaster fire ripped through the air, but while the Metal Head squealed in pain, it wasn't enough to kill it.

The distraction was all Sig needed, though. "Let's see how you like a taste of _this!_" Adjusting both his aim and his grip, he pressed down the trigger that would charge up the Peacemaker.

Unfortunately, he didn't count on Daxter being underfoot. As he stepped forward and raised his gun to fire, his boot came down on something soft and round. Startled both by the unstable footing and by the ottsel's sharp cry of pain, his aim went wild. Unfazed by the miss, the Metal Head lunged forward, razor claws extended to tear Sig's throat out. With no time to charge a second shot, Sig slammed the butt of his gun into the thing's face. It shrieked and staggered back, momentarily dazed.

Seconds later, it was dead.

Slowly, Sig released his hold on his trigger. _Man, that was close._ Out loud, he murmured, "_Big_ son of a bitch." And it was. It was probably the largest Metal Head they had encountered yet, easily twice as tall as Sig.

"You all right?" Kraven asked.

"Just peachy." He eyed the corpse, debating whether or not to try to harvest the Metal Head's gem. On the one hand, it would make an excellent trophy to bring home. _Too large to carry, though. We'll have to leave it for later._

"What, nobody's gonna ask about me? See how _I'm_ doing?" Daxter glared at the both of them from where he sat on the ground, nursing his wounded tail. "I'm the one who just got stepped on!"

Sig snorted. He had absolutely no sympathy for the creature, not after nearly getting them both killed. "Quit complainin'. You're alive, aren't you? Next time you might not be so lucky."

The words earned him a baleful look. "Ooh, no. There isn't gonna _be_ a 'next time', buddy. You wanna know why?" Drawing himself up to his full two feet of height, the ottsel angrily stabbed a finger in Sig's direction. "Because from here on out, I am riding on _your_ shoulder. There will be no more ottsel stomping, ya hear?"

Sig opened his mouth to verbally disabuse the animal of that idea, but a second consideration made him stop. Being underfoot was exactly what had caused the problem in the first place. Short of following through on his original threat and tying the creature to his back, there really wasn't a better solution. He glanced at Kraven.

"Don't look at me," the other man said flatly. "You brought him along, he's your problem."

Sig grimaced. "Fine," he grated out. "But you yell in my ear, I'll skin your furry little ass. Now get over here."

Not needing to be told twice, the ottsel grabbed hold of Sig's extended arm and scampered up his armor. With an ease that spoke of a great deal of practice, he settled into place on the Wastelander's left shoulder. "Geeze," he muttered. "You're a lot taller than Jak. I feel like I can see forever."

Ah. _That_ was why he was familiar with sitting on shoulders.

"Look, just sit down and shut up. The sooner me an' Kraven do our jobs, the sooner we get out of here."

Though he couldn't see it from where Daxter was perched, Sig could practically hear the ottsel's eyes roll in his head. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. Don't worry, Siggy-baby, my lips are sealed for the rest of this ride."

Sig's good eye twitched. That was when he realized that it was going to be a long, long night.

-o-

Jak sighed as he set the last map aside. After the two had gotten cleaned up, Damas had left him to keep looking while he did whatever it was that king's did. The task was a lot more boring without company to talk to. Not that Damas really talked all that much, but he had a _presence_ that kept the room from feeling empty. And now Jak was finished and still no closer to finding Sandover.

_What if I never find it?_ It was also a lot easier to have sobering thoughts like that when there was no one around to distract him. Jak bit his lip as he thought the possibility over. What _would_ he do if he couldn't get home? _Maybe Damas would let me stay in Spargus._

That... actually didn't sound all that bad. He didn't like the idea of never seeing his friends, but if he had to pick someplace to be stuck in, he could do a lot worse than the desert city. He could get used to the heat, he was sure, and there was something about the open nature of the desert that appealed to him. He hadn't really interacted with any of the people here, besides Damas, Sig, and that disturbing boy in the infirmary, but from what he'd seen, they at least had a better general attitude than the people of Haven. People here didn't look constantly miserable or terrified.

But what did people _do_ in Spargus? _In the desert, you are either useful or dead weight._ That was what Damas had said to him. That meant that everyone here _did_ something, and they couldn't all be warriors, even if they did all have guns. Were there farmers in the desert? Were some of these people carpenters and stone masons? Maybe there were fishermen who fished in the ocean. What else was there, though? More importantly, how would Jak fit in if he asked to stay?

_I don't know enough,_ was his inevitable conclusion. He glanced at the door. Damas hadn't told him not to leave, and he hadn't given Jak any idea of when he would be back. _He probably has a lot to do,_ he mused. The mayor of Sandover was always complaining about how much work it was to run the place. Spargus was a lot larger than his village.

But as busy as Damas must be, the king was still taking time to help him find his home and to teach him to use a gun. Suddenly, Jak felt even more grateful to the man. _If I live here, I want to be useful to him._

Resolve firming in his mind, he pushed himself away from the table and headed for the door. If he wanted to be useful, he needed to know more about this place. The best way to do that would be to go out and wander the streets, to watch the people and see what they did. It would help him get a feel for the city and, if he was lucky, he might get an idea of what _he_ wanted to do.

_Besides,_ he thought wryly as he stepped outside. _I did tell myself I was going to explore._ And with plenty of time on his hands and nothing else to do, now seemed like the perfect time to do it.

**-End Chapter Eight-**


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

**-Chapter Nine-**

People in Spargus were not as obvious about how they made their living as the people in Sandover, but Jak didn't have to observe long to know that that guy was a fruit vendor and that woman repairing someone's gun had to be a mechanic of some sort. Every once in a while he spotted a place where stones in a building had been replaced, so there had to be stone masons, and someone had to have constructed the wooden stands that displayed the vendors' wares. In those ways, Spargus was a lot like his home.

But it was the things that _weren't_ familiar that caught his interest the most. No one here rode on zoomers, but a few people in the city had giant lizards that reminded him vaguely of featherless, gray-green flut fluts. He also noticed that people tended to barter with Precursor artifacts and what looked like Metal Head gems, with only the rare Precursor orb tossed in. _Maybe they're not as common here,_ he speculated.

Though he blended in better with his brown clothes, no one here seemed interested in striking up a conversation with a stranger, so for the most part Jak was left alone. That suited him just fine, since all he wanted to do was watch. Watch and listen. As he strolled down the streets, he heard lots of interesting things.

"...kangarats in the granary _again_..." That was an old woman with a weather-beaten face who looked like she could blend right into the sand.

"...heard Erol's gonna be in the Haven City races again. No surprise there..." This came from a burly man with a gun that was almost as tall as he was.

"...I'll give you ten gems for the lot..." A younger man, maybe a few years older than Jak.

"...heard there was a new batch of Marauders entering the arena, wantin' to become citizens. Think any of 'em will manage it...?" Jak couldn't tell which person in the cluster of Spargans said this, other than the fact that it couldn't be the one woman who was with them. He shrugged and went on. It didn't really matter.

"...damn the man. I'm tellin' ya, he's up to something. Heard he was doing experiments..."

"...bet I can bring in more Metal Head gems than you on our next run! Got a new gun upgrade..."

"...if that leaper lizard craps on my doorstep again, I swear..."

Jak stopped paying attention and just let the sounds of the city wash over him. Half of what he heard he didn't understand anyway, but if he didn't listen too closely, he could get the general _feel_. Most of it felt so completely and utterly _normal_ that, if he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that he was home. He didn't do that more than once, though. The wave of homesickness that it brought had made his chest ache in a way that hadn't been pleasant at all.

Searching for something else to think about, Jak realized that he'd come to the end of the street. It wasn't just any street, though. He _recognized_ this street. This was the same street that Sig had led him down when they first entered Spargus, the street he and Damas had taken to go to the desert. That door at the end opened up to a sort of holding area that had been devoid of people, but had a number of odd-looking machines in it. While trying to keep up with his guides, he hadn't had an opportunity to take a closer look, but now...

Jak grinned and kept walking. The door opened for him as soon as he got close to it, and then there they were. He immediately went to the nearest one. He'd never seen anything like it. _They've got wheels, so they've gotta be some kind of vehicle._ He leaned in and poked at the controls, but nothing happened. _I wonder what people use them for._

The next one was a lot larger, and the way its wheels and frame were splayed out made him think of a four-legged spider. There was enough room between it and the ground for Jak to crawl under and take a look at its belly, which he did so after shifting his gun so that it wouldn't catch. _Weeiird. I bet Keira would go nuts over this._ For that matter, she could probably take one look at all these components and know exactly what it was this machine did, how fast it could go, and how many power cells it needed to make it work.

A loud screech of metal on metal suddenly filled the air, pulling Jak's attention away from the vehicle. Rolling onto his stomach, he scooted forward until he was able to see the main door to Spargus. Sure enough, it was opening, allowing a motley group of men to come in. Some of them were so filthy and unkempt that Jak could smell them from across the holding area. He wrinkled his nose but kept watching.

"All right, poppies, listen up!" bellowed the man at the front. He was _huge_, reminding Jak of Krew, but unlike the bar owner, this man's weight looked to be just as much muscle as fat. His handlebar moustach almost looked like tusks, giving the man an even more dangerous appearance. "You're 'ere in Spargus for one thing and one thing only, an' that's the arena! You go anywhere else an' I'll gut ya and leave ya for the lizards! Understand?"

Some of the men he addressed sneered at the threat and thumbed the edges of their weapons, but Jak couldn't hear any protests under the mutters of agreement.

"Right, then. Follow me!"

The men shuffled after the leader, passing by the vehicle that Jak had been investigating. Curious about where they were going and what they were doing, the teen pulled himself out from under the machine, intending to trail behind them.

"Oi, you! Get away from me vehicles!" Jak nearly jumped out of his skin as a large hand suddenly came down on his shoulder and spun him around. The big man curled his lip up and _growled_ as he looked Jak up and down. "What did I say about pokin' yer nose where it don't belong, you scrawny little runt? Pull somethin' like that again and I'll wallop you! Now get back in line!" Before Jak could even try to point out that he wasn't with this group, the man shoved him forward so hard that he nearly stumbled into one of the fighters.

"Watch it!" the grubby man snarled, clouting Jak over the head with his fist.

_Ow!_ Jak winced and rubbed his head, then glared at the man. _That was completely uncalled for!_

"Well? What're you lot waitin' for? Get moving!"

Edging away from the man who had hit him, Jak tried to extricate himself from the press of bodies as they made their way into the city. Somehow, though, he kept getting jostled back into the middle. First it was a man with tattoos on every inch of his skin. The man growled when Jak tried to cut in front of him. After what the last man had done, Jak decided to back off and try a different path. Then it was the man with so much armor that it was impossible to be certain it _was_ a man. This one didn't even growl, just shoved Jak to the side the moment he got too near. Frustrated, the teen tried ducking between two men dressed in brown leather, their hair bleached a sandy color from the sun. One of the men laughed and caught him by the back of his shirt.

"'Ey, Dag, lookit 'ere! Don't 'e look just like you when you was a kid? You shoulda told me you had a brother!"

"Ah, shut it, Jeb," the other man snapped. "That kid ain't my brother. His hair's too green."

"Maybe 'e's got a different father, then," Jeb said slyly.

_No._ Jak shook his head as he struggled against the first man's grip. He didn't know who his parents were, but he really, _really_ doubted he was related to anyone here.

"Just let the little bastard go," Dag said, irritably reaching out to help pry Jeb's fingers off of Jak's shirt. "Doesn't matter who he is. I'll treat him the same as I'll treat you when we get to the arena." Once he succeeded in freeing Jak, he pushed him none too gently back the way he'd come. "Go on, kid. Scram!"

Once again, Jak was right back where he started. Huffing to himself, he plunged more determinedly through the crowd, avoiding the men who looked the most annoyed and either dodging or enduring the occasional fist or elbow that came his way. Eventually, he made it to the edge.

Unfortunately, the leader was there, looming over him like a thundercloud. "Don't even think about it, nipper," he growled. "I've got me eye on you."

_But I'm not-_ Someone bumped into Jak, staggering him from the force of it. Straightening up, he tried again. He pointed at himself and shook his head vehemently. _I'm not supposed to be here!_

The leader snorted. "Don't act innocent with me. You think this is me first time leadin' a bunch of you yabbers through this city? I know all the tricks- 'ERE NOW, DON'T THINK I DON'T SEE YOU!" he suddenly bellowed. "YEAH, YOU, THE ONE WITH NO EARS! KEEP IT UP AND YOU WON'T HAVE HANDS EITHER!"

Jak resisted the urge to look and see who the man was yelling at. Whatever they were doing, it wasn't his problem, and he had something more important to focus on. When the leader turned his eyes back on him, Jak lifted his chin, determined to be heard. He pointed at himself, then at the group, and shook his head. He made the motions sharp and distinct. _I'm. Not. With. Them._

"Oh, you think you're too good to walk with the others? Too good to speak to the likes of me?" The large man's lip curled into a sneer. "Maybe you're too good for this city, then, eh? 'Ow 'bout I toss you right back out the gate?"

At that moment, Jak would have given almost anything to be able to growl. Being able to vocalize his frustration right then would have been immensely satisfying. _That's not what I said!_ Ears laying back against his head, he lifted his hands to try again.

But someone grabbed his hands before he could begin the first gesture and yanked him forward with the rest of the crowd. For one startled moment, Jak stumbled after him, but then his brain caught up and he twisted in the man's grip, trying to pull free. _Hey! Let go!_

To no avail. The man's grip was like iron. "Yer slowin' us down, kid," said the tall, stringy fighter with a wicked-looking axe strapped to his back. "Quit tryin' to slip off. If we gotta stop and wait while Kleiver knocks some sense into you, it's only gonna piss the rest of us off. Trust me, runt, you _don't_ want that."

Of course, that didn't stop Jak from trying to break free. He clawed at his captor's fingers, though with the thick leather gloves he was wearing it was doubtful the man felt anything. When that didn't work, he literally dug his heels into the dirt.

But he'd forgotten to take one thing into account. The streets of Spargus weren't covered in dirt, they were covered in sand, which gave way all too easily under his feet. Instead of offering any resistance, Jak found himself being dragged. His captor regarded him with amused indifference.

"You might as well just walk. It's a lot easier for me and a lot more comfortable for you - unless you _like_ gettin' sand up your ass."

Faced with the choice of either following on his feet or getting dragged the rest of the way to wherever they were going, Jak unhappily settled for the former. The man didn't let go and he didn't look at the teen again, so there was no opportunity to try to convince him that there'd been a mistake. Jak grimaced. _I'll have to wait until we get where we're going._

They didn't have far to go. Jak had noticed during his exploration that Spargus could be split into two main sections that were connected by one narrow street. There was the area by the ocean and the area by the entrance - they might have had proper names, but nobody had used them within his hearing - and it was on the other side of the second that they came to a wide set of stairs. Rather than going up the stairs, though, the leader - Kleiver? - took them to the side and opened a door.

"These stairs go down to the 'olding area where you're to wait. When the doors open, that's yer cue to pile out and 'ave at it." Kleiver grinned at them then, but it wasn't a nice expression. "Good luck becomin' citizens of Spargus."

Jak's ears flicked up at that, but he barely had time to process the words before the men around him roared with enthusiasm and started shoving their way into the stairwell. Unfortunately, even though the man who had been holding his arm had let go, the crowd swallowed him up and pushed him along, giving him no room to maneuver or escape.

The next few minutes were a jumble of confusion for Jak. Too many people were talking, too many sweaty, unbathed bodies were pressed together in too small a room, and there was too much that the teen didn't understand. He tried to talk to some of the fighters, to explain once again that he shouldn't be here, but they all either ignored him, threatened him, or tried to hit him. Frustrated, Jak found a relatively empty space to sit down and wait.

As he sat, his thoughts went over what had happened in the last few minutes. What had Kleiver meant? What were these men - and Jak, apparently - about to do? And was it really how someone became a citizen of Spargus?

He didn't know how he felt about that. Becoming a citizen was supposed to be his backup plan, something for him to consider if he couldn't find Sandover. It was way too soon to give up just yet. Yeah, sure, he'd been investigating the city with that thought in mind, but that was all he'd been doing: _investigating._

_Okay, so this isn't exactly what had I planned. Just calm down and look at it this way,_ he reasoned with himself. _If I can't get out of this, then I'll just go with it. I can be part of Spargus until I find Sandover or... or whatever. If I decide to stay, then I'm already a citizen and I don't have to ask._ He took a deep breath, then instantly regretted it. _Ugh. Just being near these people makes _me_ want to take a bath._

Something caught his ears then, even over the mutters of his erstwhile neighbors. It almost sounded like cheering, but it came from outside the walls of the room, so it was muffled by the wood and stone. Curious, Jak stood up. All around him, the fighters tensed and shut up. Near-silence reigned for just a moment as they all waited for some unknown signal.

Then the wooden doors in front of them opened, and once again Jak was swept up in a moving, roaring tide.

-o-

As Damas took his place on his balcony overlooking the arena, his mind was not on the fight that was about to begin. He had seen its like many times before and would see many more in the future. Only a minimal amount of attention was really needed to weigh the talents and abilities the fighters displayed, and frankly he doubted he would see anything of true interest from this particular group. It was easy to let his thoughts wander while he waited for Kleiver to signal that the men were ready.

As had been happening all too often of late, his thoughts went to the blond teenager that Sig had brought in. The boy showed promise with a gun, though at this point it was too soon to tell how good he would be. He at least had the right attitude about training. Though Damas had driven him hard, and though the boy was obviously unused to the desert's heat, there had been no sign of complaint, only a strong determination to master the task that Damas had set him. Such a trait was not common and was always rewarding to work with. Perhaps that was why Damas had decided to take the boy's training into his own hands. It also allowed him to keep a closer eye on Jak, who admittedly had been allowed into the city without following the proper procedures. No one had checked his background, no one had judged his willingness to stay silent about Spargus, no one knew where his loyalties laid. The more time Damas spent with him, the more sure he could be that Jak was not a liability. It was certainly a good excuse to use with his advisers the next time one of them commented about how much time he was devoting to Jak.

But if he was honest, the truth was that he didn't know why he had agreed to Jak's silent request. It had simply felt right. Perhaps it was. He was the one who had ordered Sig to have the boy brought here. That made him Damas' responsibility.

Deep down, though, he knew it was more complex than that.

Movement on one of the other balconies caught his attention, pulling him out of his thoughts. Kleiver gave him a short wave and a thumbs up, indicating that the would-be Spargans were in the holding room. Damas nodded to indicate that he'd seen the gesture, then stood up. It was time to begin.

"Citizens of Spargus!" he called out, the acoustics of the volcanic chamber picking up his voice and amplifying so that all could hear. The babble of the spectators immediately died down and all eyes turned to him. Once he was certain he had their complete attention, he continued. "Tonight we bear witness to a fight of skill, determination, and survival. The fighters we will see have only one thing in common, and that is their desire to join us as a part of this city. Watch them and judge their worth, for tonight, one of them will be one step closer to being your brother in arms." He paused, then lifted his staff and brought it down with a sharp crack that echoed throughout the arena.

"Now, let the challenge begin!"

The crowd roared its approval and anticipation, and down below, the doors to the holding chamber were opened. Fighters poured out onto the platform that sat in the middle of the lava, as typical a bunch of Marauders as Damas had ever seen. His eyes skimmed over them, taking in their stained and ragged clothes, their hodgepodge of salvaged armor, and their dirty and often rusting weapons. He was about to dismiss the lot of them as not worth the time it took to watch them slaughter each other when one last person slid out of the holding room and stood there, blinking around in confusion. This one had a gun but no armor and his brown clothes and blond hair were relatively clean. He was much shorter and younger than any of the other fighters.

He was also entirely too familiar. Damas' blood ran cold with shock.

It was Jak.

**-End Chapter Nine-**


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

**-Chapter Ten-**

When Jak climbed out of the holding room, it was into a scene of chaos. He couldn't even comprehend what the other men were doing at first because it struck so violently against the very core of his world. People just didn't _do_ things like this. An occasional brawl or a fist swung in anger was one thing. Even shooting at the vehicles of supposed lawbreakers could be justified. But this...

People didn't take swords and run them through the bellies of other people.

People didn't attack each other for no good reason.

People didn't kill _people._

Something warm and liquid spattered across his face as something - _someone_ - fell down in front of him. Jak's eyes followed involuntarily, his horror rising when he recognized the mangled features of Dag, the man who had been accused of being his brother. Dag's eyes were open and staring, oblivious to the axe that was buried in his face.

Jak's stomach nearly rebelled then and there.

Then the axe was wrenched from Dag's head, and with a start, Jak realized that the man who had killed Dag was still there, and now he was turning to face _him_, and didn't he care that he'd just _killed a man_, why was he _grinning_, why was he lifting his axe again, why was he-? Jak's instincts kicked in, cutting through numbing horror, and he threw himself to the side just in time to avoid losing his head. He stumbled backwards, trying to put distance between himself and his attacker, but the man just kept coming after him, swinging his axe again and again.

Unfortunately, he didn't have much room to go before he came to the edge of the platform and there was nothing in the lava that he could jump to. Trapped between the axeman and the molten rock, Jak did the only thing he could think to do. It was instinct, almost, ingrained into him from all his battles with Lurkers. Gathering his legs beneath him, he leaped as high into the air as he could manage and spun, delivering a powerful roundhouse kick to his attacker's head. Even as large as the man was, and despite the dented helmet he wore on his head, he still grunted and fell back. Jak didn't give him any chance to recover. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he lunged forward and punched the man in the gut, doubling him over, then jumped and kicked him in the face.

This time the man went down, completely unconscious. For a moment, Jak just stood there, his breathing shaky with adrenaline and the realization of what he'd just done. He'd attacked another person, might have really _hurt_ them, and it wasn't in defense of the world. Even with Gol and Maia, he hadn't attacked them directly. He'd been more interested in destroying their machine than in killing them. In fact, knocking them into the dark eco silo had been more accident than anything else. He'd never fought anyone like this. And for what? _What's going on?_

The only answer he got was another attacker swinging a club at his head. The fighter was huge and bandy-legged, and there were several teeth missing from his snarling mouth. Jak ducked the club and dove between the man's legs, coming out in a roll. Unfortunately, he came up right in front of another fighter who was more than happy to slash his knife at Jak's face.

Panic gripped Jak, and again he acted out of instinct. One hand snapped up to latch onto the knifeman's wrist, not so much stopping it as pushing it off course. His other hand formed a fist which he used to deliver a sharp uppercut to the man's chin. The man fell back with a howl of pain, and if not for Jak's grip on his arm, he would have fallen into the lava behind him. Wide-eyed at what he'd nearly done, the teen let go and stumbled back.

However, there was no gratitude in the knifeman's eyes. With a wordless yell of rage, he lunged forward, slashing wildly at the boy from Sandover. Jak tried just dodging, hoping that the man would come to his senses and realize that Jak didn't want to fight him, but it quickly became apparent that this wasn't going to happen. Jak's gut twisted with the realization that if he didn't want to be stabbed, he was going to have to fight back. His mind rebelled at the thought.

But when the knifeman came at him again, all his thoughts about how wrongwrong_wrong_ this was were completely drowned out by the need to act _now_. Ducking under the next slash, so close he thought it might have nicked his ear, he came back up inside the fighter's guard and slammed his fist into the man's face. There was a sickening crunch of something breaking and the man's head snapped back under the force of the blow. He staggered, and for a moment Jak thought he might recover and attack again, but then something that gleamed of metal and blood sprouted from the middle of the man's chest. The knifeman looked down at it, as though surprised to see it there.

He never looked back up. His body jerked and collapsed as the person behind him yanked his sword back out, but he didn't so much as twitch after that. Jak's breath hitched. He couldn't tear his eyes away. Only moments before, the man had been alive. Snarling and maddened, but _alive._ Now he was bloody and still and he'd dropped his knife and _please pick it back up get up get up please get up I don't care if you attack me just please_-

"You're next, kid."

Jak barely heard the words. There was a roaring in his ears as he fought with denial. He knew what death looked like. He'd seen plenty of Lurkers die, most of them by his hand. But this was different. This wasn't a Lurker. Dead men shouldn't look like dead Lurkers.

Another voice, louder and nearer than the ones that filled the air, joined the cacophony of shouting, and Jak finally looked up to see the swordsman charging at him with sword raised overhead.

-o-

Damas watched the fight with narrowed eyes, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair. Most of it was going exactly how he had expected, with clumsy displays of weapon skills and brute strength, hardly a drop of discipline or training to be seen. No, the unexpected came in the form of the teenage boy who had apparently decided that he wanted to be a Wastelander.

_Why doesn't he use his gun?_ Damas frowned as Jak again resorted to using his hands to defend himself, this time from a man wielding a knife. Granted, the boy seemed to be fairly skilled at unarmed combat, if oddly hesitant at times, but the gun would still have given him an advantage. _Perhaps he thinks that he does not yet have the training to use it properly in a fight._

Whatever the reason, it remained strapped to Jak's back, a useless weight that would only hinder his movement. Damas would have to speak to him about that, assuming he survived the arena. His fingers tightened their grip.

In the arena below, Jak's opponent, stunned by the boy's right hook, was taken from behind by another challenger. Such things were common and, while not exactly honorable, were still considered sound tactics. You had to take advantage of your enemy's weakness when the opportunity appeared, and in a free-for-all such as this, it was best to eliminate opponents as quickly as possible. Damas was not surprised.

But Jak froze, staring at the fallen knifeman instead of facing his newest opponent as he should have. Damas gritted his teeth, unable to act on the impulse to shake some sense into him. _The man is dead and no longer a threat,_ he wanted to snap. _Pay attention to the man who killed him!_

At the last minute, Jak seemed to wake up to the danger and threw himself to the side, but it was not soon enough to avoid the blade entirely. Even from this distance, Damas could see the stain of blood that blossomed on his shirt, but he could not tell how bad the wound really was. Not bad enough to keep Jak from defending himself, though, which he did by kicking his leg out and sweeping the swordsman's feet out from under him. However, over the course of the battle, such injuries would take their toll and possibly prove fatal.

Then Jak did something that was completely and utterly baffling. As soon as his opponent was down, he leaped forward and wrested the sword from the man's grip, but instead of keeping it for himself, he threw it out into the lava. Damas stared. _What?_ Disarming one's opponent was one thing, but this? This was utter foolishness! Even if Jak's personal preference was for unarmed combat, such an action not only wasted a perfectly good weapon, it also wasted an opportunity to dispatch his opponent cleanly and quickly. Worse, he'd done this while the man was both conscious and unrestrained and easily close enough to strike him while his guard was down.

Glaring down into the arena, the king found himself hoping that Jak would survive if for no other reason than so that he could chew the boy out.

-o-

Jak had hoped that throwing the man's weapon away would convince him that the fight was over, but it only seemed to spur him into an even greater frenzy.

"You little maggot!" the man roared as he got to his feet. "I'll make you pay for that!" He lunged for the teen, looking mad enough to try to strangle him with his bare hands.

But Jak was much smaller and more agile than this hulk of a man could ever hope to be, and he didn't have any stiff, unyielding armor restricting his movement. He easily evaded the man's grasping fingers. His chest felt like it was on fire where the sword had sliced into him, but there was nothing he could do for it right now except ignore it. What was more difficult to deal with were his roiling emotions. He could still see the knifeman's wide eyes and the way the blood had spilled down and soaked his shirt where he'd been run through. He could still hear the wet gurgle that had been in his last breath. He could-

_Focus!_ Breathing somewhat raggedly, he forced his attention back on the fight, jumping back just in time to avoid the enraged fighter's fists. Unfortunately, he didn't come down on even ground as he'd thought he would, but instead stepped on something that gave and rolled beneath his feet. Jak flailed and nearly lost his balance, but another step back found firmer footing. When he looked down to see what it was he had stepped on, his stomach tried to heave again.

It was a body, its belly split open and its guts spilling out. Next to it was another one, this one lying face down. Its skull was caved in, splinters of bone sticking out of bloody, gray matter that should never have seen the light of day. With a rising wave of horror, Jak realized that the whole arena was littered with the bodies of the dead and dying, victims of other fights that had been going on while he had been focusing on the men attacking him. Some of those fights were still going on, but there were more people lying on the ground than there were standing. Even as he watched, two more men fell, their bodies hacked and bloody. No one else seemed to notice or care.

"Got you now, you scrawny piece of shit!"

Later on, Jak would realize that if the man hadn't yelled before he attacked, he would probably be dead, but at that moment, he was too numb to think, too sick at heart to do anything but react the way his body was trained to. When the fighter lunged for him, his eyes gleaming with madness and bloodlust, Jak's fist snapped up and slammed itself into the man's throat.

Something crunched and gave way that shouldn't have. The man's eyes bugged out of his head and he clutched at his neck, his mouth gaping open, but no sound came out. He was obviously trying to gasp for breath, but with the panic that was written all over his face and the way he was beginning to stagger, it was just as obvious that he wasn't getting enough air. Jak's eyes widened as he realized what he had done and he reached out to help the man, to do... to do _something_, though he had no idea what, but his fingers had barely brushed the suffocating man's arm when the fighter slipped on the edge of the arena platform. Before Jak could do anything, the man was engulfed in lava.

He couldn't even scream as he was burned alive.

Jak's knees gave out beneath him as he emptied the contents of his stomach. Even when there was nothing left, his muscles still convulsed. A sickening odor filled the air, but his brain refused to identify the smell. In fact, it was doing its best to shut his every thought down, because there was one thought trying to surface that he knew, he _knew_ he couldn't cope with.

It was almost a blessing when the loud clomp of boots behind him alerted him to the presence of another attacker. It gave him something else to think about, something else to focus on, so that he didn't have to deal with the fact that he had just k-

He rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the club that smashed down where he'd been kneeling. He didn't stop moving, though, because this time there wasn't just one attacker. A second man, this one also armed with a club, tried to bash his head in as he climbed to his feet. Moving on autopilot, Jak leaped up, his foot touching briefly on the club as it passed beneath him, and he used it to shoot himself up even higher. The second man blinked up at him stupidly, as though he'd never seen someone jump that high before. Without thinking, Jak flipped himself in the air and came down fist first, straight into the man's face. The man crumpled to the ground beneath him.

"Lucky move," the other man scoffed. Blood dripped down the side of his face from where he'd lost an ear, but he didn't seem to notice. "Idiot shouldn't have just stood there. I won't be so easy, kid, trust me." He hefted his club up and gave it a practice swing as he eyed the blond teen. "Huh. Bet the only reason you've lasted this long is 'cause everyone else went after the _real_ fights first."

Jak probably should have felt insulted, but at this point he couldn't bring himself to care. His thoughts refused to slide together into coherent strings, leaving only a jumbled mess of fragments and feelings. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see Daxter. He wanted his uncle to wrap his arms around him. He wanted to dream of sand.

But most of all he wanted this to be _over,_ so when his opponent finally got tired of waiting for him to react and charged him, Jak was ready to fight back. He dodged one swing of the massive club, then another, getting a feel for how long it took the man to adjust the direction of his attacks. The third time the club passed within a hairsbreadth of his chin, instead of jumping back, he lunged forward and jabbed his elbow into the man's gut with every ounce of his strength. The man wheezed as the breath was knocked out of him. Jak took advantage of this moment of weakness by chopping down on the wrist that held the club. Unfortunately, this move didn't work as well as he'd hoped, and the man retained his grip.

With a snarl of pain, the other fighter tried to grab him with his free hand, but Jak was expecting this. He dropped into a crouch to avoid the hand, then shot up into the air with his fist swinging. There was a sharp _crack!_ as he connected with the man's jaw, but he didn't wait to see if that had done the job. Grabbing onto the man's shoulder with his other hand, he vaulted himself higher. As he came down, he swung a kick to the back of the man's bare, unprotected head.

The man was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Jak landed and, breathing heavily, he looked around to see who was going to attack him next. To his surprise, though, there was no one else standing, despite the screams that continued to fill the air. His eyes traveled up the distant walls that were beyond the edge of the lava, and there he saw people just standing and yelling from some kind of wide ledge or balcony. He didn't understand what they were doing, but they weren't fighting. As far as Jak was concerned, that was all that really mattered. Feeling numb and drained, he let his eyes drop back down and he began to pick his way through the bodies in search of a way out of this hellish place.

**-End Chapter Ten-**


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

**-Chapter Eleven-**

Even as Damas hit the switch that lowered a platform down to the arena, he could tell that something was wrong with Jak. There had been no mistaking the fact that he had thrown up after his second to last battle, and now that the battle was over, his movement was slow and listless. He did notice the lowered platform, though, and made his way over to it, taking care not to step on any of the bodies that lay in his path. When the platform rose and Damas was able to get a closer look at him, the symptoms were even more obvious. The boy's skin was pale and his breathing was shallow, the pupils of his eyes dilated as far as they could go. Damas had seen enough warriors wounded in battle to recognize the signs.

Jak was in shock.

"Jak," he said, knowing that he needed to get the boy to focus. "Look at me."

The boy did as he commanded, the dazed look in his eyes clearing just a little when he saw who had spoken. That was good, but not good enough. He needed to be taken to the infirmary and treated. However, there were certain formalities that had to be dealt with. Damas cleared his throat, then picked up the beacon piece that he had reserved for the winner of this event.

"You did well," he said. He spoke so that the whole of the arena could hear him, but though he tried to keep his tone impersonal, there was just a hint of pride in his voice. Jak _had_ fought well, and he had won despite his mistakes and disadvantages. He would be a good addition to Spargus once he earned his full citizenship. "And for your skill and bravery, this piece of a battle amulet is yours. With this you have earned the right to enter and leave Spargus at any time. Earn three and you will be recognized as one of our own by all within this city."

The crowd roared its approval.

Normally, he would have tossed the amulet to the boy after the end of his speech, but with the state that Jak was in, it was probably best not to risk it. He continued to stand there, staring blankly, as though he didn't comprehend anything that Damas had said. The king frowned. Definitely not good. He stood up, preparing to call someone over to take Jak to the infirmary.

But Jak cut him off with one lifted hand. Slowly, he pointed down at the arena, then at Damas, then at his eyes. His body trembled slightly and his breathing became heavier. _You saw everything?_ Or perhaps he was asking _You were watching?_

Damas hesitated, uncertain why Jak was asking this, but he couldn't read the boy's face, so he just nodded. "Yes," he said neutrally. "It is one of my duties as king of Spargus to oversee the arena battles."

Jak's hand slashed through the air, his gestures jerky but vehement. He pointed at himself, then swept his hand to encompass the whole arena, then both hands rose to cross each other and part and...

"Slow down!" Damas snapped as the boy's motions became too fast and too complex and began to lose all meaning. "I cannot understand what you are saying. _Breathe_, Jak. And _calm down._" The boy was practically hyperventilating.

Something flashed in Jak's eyes, breaking past the glaze of shock. He clenched his hands into fists, but instead of lifting them to repeat anything he'd "said," he opened his mouth and _rasped._ There were no words in the sound, barely more than a vocal croak, but the emotion in it was clearer than anything he could have said.

Jak was furious.

Then without another word, gesture or otherwise, he turned and leaped to one of the exit balconies beside him.

"Jak!" Damas cracked the name out like a whip, but Jak just ignored him as he stormed out of the arena. For a moment, Damas was tempted to go after him, to demand an explanation. Unfortunately, there were far too many people watching. As king of Spargus, he could not be seen chasing after some child who was not yet even a citizen, even if the boy _had_ just won his first arena challenge. Damas swore under his breath. "Kleiver, go after him!"

It was a sign of just how well Kleiver could read his voice when the Wastelander didn't even nod to acknowledge the command before disappearing from his own balcony. Still, Damas refused to leave the matter entirely in the other man's hands. He forced himself to wait an aggravating ten seconds, then turned and strode purposefully through the exit behind his throne. As soon as the curtain fell behind him, his pace picked up to match his racing thoughts.

What was going on here? What had upset Jak so much? Damn it, if only the boy could talk! Whatever he had been trying to say during that brief exchange, Damas was certain it held the key behind his anger. Once more, he tried to pick apart the flurry of gestures, but again they refused to yield up any meaning. The only thing he knew was that it had something to do with Damas watching him.

Emerging from the building that housed the arena, Damas immediately spotted the large figure of Kleiver at the bottom of the stairs. Unfortunately, there was no sign of Jak anywhere near him. "Where is he?" he demanded as he swiftly descended to join him.

Kleiver grimaced, obviously unhappy to have lost his quarry. "Little nipper's got a pair of legs on him," he said. "Took off faster'n a kangarat in a leaper pen. Last I saw him, he was headed for the ocean, but yeh know them Marauder brats don't like to travel straight lines. He'll prob'ly double back before he's halfway there."

Damas frowned distractedly as he started down Jak's most likely path. "Jak is not a Marauder," he said. "He is a guest to Spargus under special circumstances." Glancing up at the sky, he noted that the sun had almost set. That would make tracking Jak down even more difficult, but at least he knew that the boy could not leave the city. Damas still had the battle amulet in his hand, which Jak would need in order to open the city gate. Still, it was best to find him quickly. He was injured and possibly still in shock, and neither condition should be left untreated.

"Huh." Something about the way Kleiver said that caught Damas' attention and he turned to catch the large man chewing on the end of his mustache. Kleiver caught his lifted eyebrow and shrugged. "If he's not a Marauder, that might explain 'is behavior a bit. Kept tryin' to split off from the others before we got to the arena."

Damas stopped in his tracks, rounding on Kleiver so suddenly that the other Wastelander was forced to take a step back. "What did you say?"

Never one to take kindly to intimidation, even from the king, Kleiver scowled and drew himself up to his full, considerable height. "Kid was full of 'imself," he declared irritably. "Didn't want to stay in the group and wouldn't speak when I called him out on it. Just waved his hands like he thought I was deaf or some kind of bloody idiot. He-"

"He _can't_ speak," Damas cut him off harshly. Suddenly the pieces were all falling together, forming a picture that explained all too well what had happened in the arena. Damas cursed himself for a fool for not seeing it sooner.

But there was no use wasting time laying blame, not when he did not know what Jak would try to do. "I want you to go to the gate and make sure he doesn't slip through when someone else leaves," he commanded. "I will search for him myself." And if it seemed strange for him to do that, at the moment he honestly didn't care.

This was his mistake. _He_ would be the one to fix it.

-o-

The world was a lot colder outside of the arena - colder, in fact, than Jak remembered it being before. He wanted to blame it on the coming night, but the lingering heat in the sand between his toes told the logical part of his mind that it was still plenty warm outside. Shivering, he pulled his knees up to his chest. The cut he'd gotten from the swordsman hurt, and he thought it might still be bleeding, but he didn't care enough to look. He stared fixedly at the sand, trying to burn its image into his mind. Maybe if he stared long enough, he wouldn't see anything else when he closed his eyes.

The soft scrape of boots on rock alerted him to the presence of someone else, but Jak didn't so much as turn his head to look at them. He set his jaw. He already knew who it was. No one else had shown any interest in the beach, and there was only one man in Spargus who would be looking for him. _Damas._

The footsteps muffled as the boots met with sand, then stopped completely when the man was only a few feet away. Jak could see him from the corner of his eye, standing right next to where he'd discarded his gun and his boots, but still he didn't look at him. Silence reigned, broken only by the lapping of waves.

"You did not intend to enter the arena." Damas' voice was quiet, and his statement wasn't a question. That was just as well, because Jak had no intention of answering. His fingers tightened their grip around his knees. He didn't want to acknowledge this man, this man who had just sat there and _watched_ while people had fought and died, while he'd... while he'd...

"Was this the first time you killed someone?"

Jak flinched as though he'd been struck. That was exactly the thought he had been trying to avoid since the battle in the arena. Without his bidding, the image of the swordsman's eyes right before he fell in the lava flashed in his mind, erasing all the hard work he'd done with the sand. His stomach threatened to rebel again.

"...I see."

No. He didn't see. Feeling angry all over again, Jak reached down and slashed his finger through the sand in rough, jerky characters. GO AWAY. He didn't want to deal with Damas. He didn't want to try to explain that he _had_ killed before, but that it had been different with Gol and Maia than it had been with the swordsman. He didn't want to talk about what had happened in the arena at all.

Unfortunately, Damas would have none of it. "No," he said sternly. "I will not go away. Whether you like it or not, you are now partially a citizen of Spargus, which means I have a duty to your wellbeing. You are injured and in need of medical attention, and I will see that you get it."

Jak scowled, his ears laying flat against his head. _I don't want medical attention!_

"You do not always get what you want," Damas shot back, harshness creeping into already-rough voice. "If we did, I would still have my wife and son. Accept the fact that you have killed and may be required to do so again in the future and move on, Jak. Life is not kind to those who live in the past."

Jak nearly looked at Damas at the mention of a wife and son, but the rest of what he said killed the impulse. Hands clenching into fists, he tried again to use his voice, an effort he knew Damas would _have_ to understand because it was so extreme for him. _I will not!_

Again, the only thing that emerged from his mouth was a raw croak with only a few hints of nonvocal consonants. His voice never worked for him when he wanted it to, and it seemed the harder he tried, the more mangled his attempts became. The only times he could recall making any real sound were times when he'd been startled, hurt, or scared out of his mind, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what made those times different.

It didn't matter. Coherent or not, this was sufficient. There was a long moment of silence from Damas, making Jak wonder if the man was going to give up and leave him alone.

But he didn't. In fact, he did the last thing that Jak would have expected, his armor creaking as he carefully lowered himself to sit down in the sand beside him. Still he said nothing, and despite himself, Jak turned his head just a little, just enough so that he could try to see what the man was thinking.

Damas caught him looking. Their eyes met and held until, surprisingly, the king looked away and stared out over the water. Feeling somehow emboldened by this, Jak let head turn the rest of the way so that he could watch the man more easily.

"He knew he was most likely going to die," the king said at last. His voice was as solemn as his face. "They all did. If not by your hand, then by another. They knew that and they chose to enter, because for them, the arena was a better fate than the life they were leaving behind." A light breeze blew in from the ocean, stirring the bound pieces of his hair. Jak frowned. Why did that look so familiar?

He pushed the thought away, shaking his head angrily. _I don't understand why they had to die at all!_

Damas either understood him or was expecting the protest because he didn't need to pause to translate before replying. "The desert is a cruel place," he said matter-of-factly. "And so are its people. They are the castoffs and dregs of society. Violence is all that many of them know, and strength is the only thing they respect. The threat of death is the only consequence they fear enough to make them take something seriously, which is why a fight to the death was the method chosen to test those who wish to become citizens. Spargus is not a place for those weak of heart or those without the skills to survive."

Jak grimaced. He didn't want to admit that that made any sense, because it only did if you looked at it from a very horrible perspective. That a whole _city_ could see things like that just shouldn't be possible.

Damas was looking at him again, watching him, reading his reactions. Suddenly, the man reached out and took his hand, placing something in it before Jak could even think to pull away. Startled, the teen blinked down at the thing in his hand. When he realized what it was, though, he scowled and tried to give it back. _I don't want this._

"It is yours," Damas said, his expression hardening. His fingers, rough and calloused, wrapped around Jak's, forcing him to maintain his grip on the amulet. "You would dishonor the memory of those who fell if you refused it now. Their deaths would become meaningless. Is that what you want?"

Jak stared at the bit of metal for a long moment as he struggled with his emotions. Then, closing his eyes, he let his shoulders sag, defeated. No, that wasn't what he wanted. Suddenly feeling tired, he let his forehead rest on his knees. _Fine. I'll keep it._

Perhaps sensing that the fight had gone out of Jak, Damas let go of his hand. He did not, however, get up or move away. Instead, he put his hand on Jak's shoulder and gently pulled him back. "Let me look at your chest."

Reluctantly, Jak let go of his knees and uncurled himself enough to let Damas push aside the torn and bloody cloth of his shirt. The fabric stuck to his skin in places, making him wince as it was pulled away. Damas eyed the wound clinically, then nodded. "It is not as bad as it could be, but it should still be treated."

Morbid curiosity prompted Jak to take his own look at his injury. The sword had split his skin cleanly from his collar bone to his sternum, though the wound wasn't very deep. The blood that was slowly oozing out of it and crusting at the edges made it look worse than it really was. The biggest danger lay in infection, and considering how dirty many of the arena fighters' weapons had been, that was definitely something to be worried about. Jak didn't resist when Damas handed him his boots, then helped him stand once he'd put them on. Damas picked up his gun as well and slung the strap over one shoulder. Jak was just as glad not to have the weight on his back.

Neither of them said anything else as they walked to the infirmary. Jak was too tired and emotionally drained to make the effort and he could only guess that Damas was too wrapped up in his own thoughts. The king kept his grip on Jak's shoulder, perhaps to steady him, or maybe to make sure he didn't run off. Whatever the reason, Jak appreciated the gesture. He was beginning to feel just a little lightheaded and the physical contact helped keep him grounded. When they arrived in the infirmary, he needed no prompting to lay down on a bed.

"Seem."

Jak blinked as the strange boy with the painted face appeared at Damas' side. Where had he come from? Jak hadn't seen him in the room when they entered, and with the distinctive way the boy dressed, he thought it would be pretty hard to miss him.

"King Damas," the boy, Seem, replied evenly.

Damas lifted a hand to indicate the boy on the bed. "Take care of his injuries and do not let him leave. Tell your replacement that I am to be informed if there is any trouble during the night. Jak." He turned the full weight of his stern gaze on the teen. "You are to obey Seem and the monk who replaces her as you would obey me. Do you understand?"

Jak didn't respond at first, distracted by what Damas had inadvertently revealed. He stared at Seem. _He's a girl?_

"Jak!"

Jak's attention snapped back to the king. _What? Oh, yeah._ He nodded once to indicate that he understood, then let his gaze drift back to Seem. The boy - _girl_ - was already retrieving jars and bandages from the shelf and was studiously ignoring his attention. That was okay, he decided. He'd probably be ignoring her pretty soon, too. His eyes felt heavy and it was getting harder and harder to focus.

He didn't even notice when Damas left.

**-End Chapter Eleven-**


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

**-Chapter Twelve-**

Deep in the bowels of the monk temple, there wasn't any way to tell time. Sig knew it was late at night, though, simply because of the fact that he and Kraven were both tiring. Daxter was draped limply over his shoulder and hadn't uttered a peep in quite some time, which led Sig to believe that he was probably just this side of falling asleep. Unfortunately, neither they nor any of the others they'd crossed paths with had been able to confirm that the temple had been cleared of Metal Heads. There were always a few more that had managed to escape, a few more that had eluded the search, and in one case there was a Metal Head that was just plain nasty enough to take out the team that had tried to kill it. Finding their bodies had _not_ been pleasant.

"We need to stop for the night," Kraven said, keeping his voice low. "We'll only get ourselves killed if we fight when we're too tired to stand."

"That is _the best_ idea I have heard all day," Daxter murmured. "Sig, you should listen to him. Sleep deprivation has gifted him with the voice of reason."

Kraven scowled at the backhanded compliment, but Sig shook his head, forestalling yet another argument. "You're right," he said to the other Wastelander. "Soon as we find someplace defensible, you two bed down. I'll take first watch."

The corridor they were in right now was wide and dank, with water dripping down the walls to form shallow pools in the lowest spots. The water was brackish, probably seeping in from the ocean. Years from now it would no doubt fill these lower chambers completely, but Sig didn't expect to live long enough to see that happen. What was of more immediate concern was the fact that the hall was too long and too poorly lit to see any enemies coming until they were almost on top of them. Sig adjusted his grip on his gun, turning his head to scan the area again. _Can't be too careful._

They moved cautiously forward, both Wastelanders being careful of how they placed their feet. Every sound they made echoed down the corridor, so the quieter they moved, the less likely they were to draw attention. It also made it easier to hear sounds that they _didn't_ make. Mostly it was the slow drip of water, but every once in a while there was a soft whir of wings or the skittering of insect-like feet that Sig highly doubted were made by normal creatures. So far, though, they seemed to be avoiding their party. Sig was more inclined to believe that they were just keeping their distance, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

"...here..."

Sig and Kraven both paused as the word whispered through the air and Daxter's ears twitched visibly. Kraven raised an eyebrow. "Another team?" he asked softly.

Sig frowned. "Maybe. Or maybe one of the monks. Let's check it out."

Still wary of Metal Heads, they continued in near-silence, drawing nearer to the source of the voice. At times the pitch changed, sometimes rasping and low, sometimes so quiet it was hard to hear at all. Eventually, Sig realized that it wasn't one voice but two, and as they got closer, it became easier to hear what was being said.

"...no sign of the boy..." This was the louder, harsher voice of the two. The second voice said something that Sig couldn't hear, then the first one responded again. "The monks... eco... block the ring. Wastelanders..."

Sig and Kraven exchanged glances. _I don't know about you,_ Sig thought grimly, _but somethin' about this conversation doesn't sound right._ The other Wastelander narrowed his eyes. Apparently, he didn't think so either. They crept closer, approaching a doorway set in the wall.

"...keep looking." The second voice, though not as raspy as the first, still grated on Sig's ears. Even so, he strained his ears to catch every word it said. "Leave no room unsearched. Make absolutely sure that he is not there."

As they reached the doorway, Sig held up one hand to motion for Kraven to stay back. He put his hand back on his gun, ready to fire at a moment's notice, then slowly and carefully peered around the corner. On his shoulder, Daxter had the good sense to stay still and quiet.

"And the Wastelanders?"

"If they find you, kill them, but do not seek them out. They are not your primary concern right now." And if _that_ didn't tell Sig enough about the nature of these two, what he saw around the corner more than clinched the deal.

_Holy shit..._ Sig was not one to be easily intimidated, but even he could tell that the Metal Head that stood before him was nothing but bad news. It wasn't as large as some of the Metal Heads that he had seen, but it would still tower over him by a good two feet. Its hands and feet ended with long claws that sparked with dark eco and its body was covered with armor that was nothing but a mass of deadly sharp spikes. A powerful, bladed tail lashed the air around its feet, promising pain and dismemberment to any who tried to sneak up from behind.

And in front of it, glowing faintly with a light of its own, was a holographic transmission of another Metal Head. Only the face was visible on this one, but damn was it ugly. What looked like tentacles sprouted from all around its head and its mouth was so full of sharp teeth that it was a wonder to Sig that it could manage speech.

But speak it could, and its next words made the blood drain out of Sig's face.

"Remember, the heir of Mar is the key. Do not let him escape!"

"I won't," the Metal Head in the room promised with a hiss. "If this temple's ring is the one he came through, I _will_ find him. He cannot hide from me. An eco channeler like him will have a very strong scent."

_Shit._ Sig didn't so much as _breathe_ as he pulled away from the doorway. _Shit! Damas needs to know about this!_ But more than that, it had just become absolutely imperative that they kill every Metal Head in this place. Because it was _Mar_ they were hunting for. It _had_ to be. And if they were hunting for the king's son, Sig would be damned if he let them live long enough to find him. Then it would be a matter of searching this place top to bottom in case they were right about the kid being here.

Sig raised his hand to try to communicate with Kraven.

"Wait." There was another soft hiss of breath, in then out, then... "I can smell the stench of Mar. He is here!"

Then everything went to hell. Before Sig could so much as shout a warning, the Metal Head burst from the room in a rage of claws and death. With a startled oath, the Wastelander leaped back, narrowly avoiding losing his _other_ eye as the monster's claws slashed at his face.

"Yeow!" Daxter yelped. He scrabbled for purchase on Sig's shoulder, fingers clutching at the armor to keep from getting thrown off. "Be careful of that dark eco, Sig!"

Sig threw himself to the side as the Metal Head lunged at him again. Purple lightning crackled just inches from his chest. "Yeah, no kidding!" He tried to bring his Peacemaker to bear, but the gun was knocked out of his hand before he could even aim. Unfortunately, there was no time to go after it. It was all he could do to dodge the next swipe of the Metal Head's claws. "Damn it!"

"Sig, get down!"

Blaster fire roared over his head as soon as he ducked, and the Metal Head shrieked as it was peppered in the face. Taking advantage of the distraction, Sig dove for his weapon. "Thanks, Kraven! I owe you one!"

"I'll collect later!" Kraven shouted back, maintaining a steady stream of fire. "Now help me take this bastard down!"

"Gladly!"

Only it wasn't as easy as that. Even with all the bullets Kraven was pumping into it, the Metal Head was still targeting _him_. It was like Kraven's attacks were nothing more than a painful irritation, and instead of retaliating against the one actively shooting it, as most Metal Heads would, it lunged for Sig again, tackling him to the ground. Claws pierced his armor and pain ripped through his body, his every nerve set on fire by the dark eco that tore into him. Distantly, he was aware of someone screaming.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the pain stopped and the Metal Head was gone, blasted off of him by a bright flash of light. Sig bit back a groan as he pushed himself off the ground. Wait a minute... _The hell?_ If he didn't know better, he'd swear that was a Peacemaker blast. But his Peacemaker was right...

He groped for his gun. It wasn't in his hand. _Where...?_

"Don't worry, Sig. The Daxtinator's got your back!"

And there was Daxter, standing just to his left, a huge, cocky grin on his face as he hefted Sig's Peacemaker as best he could and prepared to fire another shot. "Man, this baby sure packs a punch. Say, you wouldn't happen to know where I could get one just like it, would ya?"

Sig barked a laugh and waited for the second shot to go off before taking his gun back. "Don't get your hopes up, chili pepper. The Peacemaker's not somethin' you get your hands on easily. But thanks. Guess you ain't just a yappin' shoulder warmer." Oh, man, it hurt to move.

"Pff," Daxter huffed in pretend offense. "'Shoulder warmer'? I'll have you know that between me an' Jak, I'm the brains of the outfit! Jak wouldn't've lasted two minutes against the Acherons without me, and don't even get me started on all the Lurkers we fought! Did you know he-"

"Can we save story time for _after_ we kill the big nasty Metal Head?" Kraven shouted. He'd had to pause in his firing to load another clip of ammunition into his gun. "Because in case it escaped your attention, _it's not dead yet!_"

Indeed, though Daxter's two attacks had obviously hurt and stunned the creature, it was quickly shaking off the effects. It stood up from where it had fallen down, shrieking its pain and rage, and it turned its head from side to side as though looking for something. Had they blinded it? Sig lifted his gun and took aim. Unfortunately, it was moving even as he fired, so fast he couldn't adjust in time, and his shot just barely missed. He gathered himself to spring away, determined not to be tackled again.

But Sig wasn't the one it was after.

"_Where is he?_" the Metal Head screeched as it plucked Daxter off the ground and slammed him against the wall. "You are not the heir of Mar, but you reek of him. Tell me where he is!" Dark eco crackled around its claws, eliciting a sharp squeal of pain from the ottsel.

"I don't know!" he cried out. He thrashed and struggled to free himself, to no avail. "I don't know nothin' about what you're talking about! Ow! Sig!"

The next blast from Sig's gun took the monster in the back. Finished with reloading his gun, Kraven added his fire to the attack, and the dual barrage was enough to get the Metal Head to lose its grip on Daxter. The ottsel lost no time in getting away as fast as his paws could take him, but he limped and staggered with every second step, indicating that he had not escaped unscathed. Meanwhile, the Metal Head whirled on the two Wastelanders, apparently finally fed up with being shot at. With another ear-rending shriek, it hurled itself across the corridor at the nearer of the two, but even as Kraven dodged its claws, its tail came around from the opposite direction and caught him in the stomach. The Wastelander flew across the room and crashed into the wall, then crumpled to the floor like a rag doll.

Sig swore. "Daxter, go check on him!" He didn't know what the ottsel could do for the man, but if nothing else he could make sure Kraven's head was out of any pools of water. "And get his gun while you're at it!" Without waiting to see if the ottsel obeyed, he fired off another shot. _Damn it, I wish this thing could charge faster!_

Having eliminated one threat, the Metal Head whipped around to face Sig and charged. However, Sig was prepared for its speed this time. He leaped out of its way, swinging the butt of his gun down to clock it hard on the head. By chance he managed to clip the gleaming yellow gem on the thing's forehead. As close as he was to the monster, its screech of pain when he did this nearly deafened him. _Bingo!_

"Its gem ain't protected like the rest of it is!" he shouted for Daxter's benefit. "Aim for the head when you're shootin' at it!"

Daxter must have gotten hold of Kraven's gun, because shortly after Sig said this, bursts of red-orange fire started lighting up the air. Several of the shots missed, but most of them managed to hit some part of the Metal Head's body. Then one bullet exploded directly in the Metal Head's face. "Oh yeah, now we're talking!" the ottsel cried out triumphantly. "I'll teach you to pick a fight with Orange Lightning! Not so tough now, are ya!"

"Quit taunting and keep shooting!" Sig snapped. He backed up and started charging his Peacemaker, hoping the ottsel could keep the creature distracted for five more seconds. He didn't dare voice his plan out loud, though. The Metal Head was smart enough to speak and understand what they said. If he gave the thing any warning at all, this whole thing could go to hell all over again - and this time they would already be down one man.

"What, you think I can't mock this thing's ugly butt and keep shooting at the same time?" Daxter retorted. "Trust me, Sig, that first part's _way_ too easy! It's practically a walking insult all by itself!"

"That's beside the point! I need you to-" A stray bullet cut him off, forcing him to duck or risk losing his head. "Damn it, cherry, where the hell did you learn to aim!"

"Hey, don't look at me! I never even held a gun before today!"

Oh hell, that was just what they needed. Sig bit back a curse as he dodged the bladed tip of the Metal Head's tail. Fortunately, Daxter had succeeded in keeping the monster's attention on him, and just as it prepared to lunge at the rodent, Sig fired off a shot that caught it right in the head. With a sound like shattering crystal, the gem blasted apart into a thousand pieces, killing the creature instantly.

For a moment, Sig hardly dared to breath. He didn't take his eyes off the body for one second, making sure that, despite its twitching and spasming, it really was dead. Once he was satisfied, he slowly released his breath, then went to check on Kraven. The man hadn't moved from where he had fallen, but when Sig felt for a pulse, he found it strong and steady. Blood trickled down the side of his shaven head from where he'd hit the wall, though, which was never a good sign. He could just simply be knocked out, but it could also be worse than that. He needed to get medical attention.

"He okay?" Daxter asked, limping up to join him. He still held Kraven's gun in his hand, and every once in a while his eyes darted off to the side, searching the darkness around them.

Sig shook his head. "Probably. But we need to get him up to the monks, preferably without runnin' into any more Metal Heads." He looped the strap on his gun over one shoulder, keeping it loose and easy to slip off in case he needed to access it quickly, then slid his hands under Kraven's arms and hauled him up onto his other shoulder. "C'mon."

Having already cleared the halls behind them, the journey back was eerily quiet. Inside his head, though, Sig's thoughts were racing. After all this time, this was the first real clue he'd found for the mission that Damas had given him. If the Metal Heads were to be believed, Mar was _here_. He'd been close enough that their spiky friend could smell him. In fact...

He frowned, casting a sidelong glance at Daxter. "Hey," he said, getting the ottsel's attention. "You seen any kids runnin' around this place while you've been here?"

Daxter just gave him a funny look. "Um, Sig, I dunno what kind of childhood _you_ had, but where I come from, this ain't exactly the kind of place parents would let their kids play in. Although..." A thoughtful look crossed his face. "Y'know, I don't think that would've stopped Jak. He was always pokin' around in places even when Samos told him not to. It was _his_ bright idea to go to Misty Island, you know. That's the place where-"

"Daxter," Sig cut him off through gritted teeth. "Just answer the damn question. Did you see _anyone_ else in this temple before Kraven and I found you?"

The furball grumbled at having his story interrupted, but shook his head in response. "Nuh uh. Just you an' the creepy metal monsters."

"Then why did that Metal Head smell Mar on you?"

Daxter blinked. "Who's Mar?"

"Someone I've been tryin' to find," Sig hedged. While he didn't think Daxter himself was any kind of a threat, he didn't trust him to be able to keep his mouth shut. If word of Damas' son got to the wrong ears...

"Huh." Daxter obviously didn't think much of Sig's vague answer, but he just shrugged and continued limping on. "Well, I dunno what that monster was smelling, but maybe it wasn't this Mar kid. It said eco channelers stunk, right? Well, Jak's about as big an eco channeler as you get. Not that I've met too many of them, mind you. In fact, Jak's the only one I know, unless you count the Sages, but you get the idea. Anyway, maybe it was him old gruesome was smelling and not- what?" He looked back at Sig, who had stopped in his tracks.

Sig drew in a sharp breath. "Jak can channel eco?"

**-End Chapter Twelve-**


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

**-Chapter Thirteen-**

Jak could channel eco. Was he somehow related to Damas, or was the rare ability _not_ exclusive to the House of Mar as he had always thought? Daxter had not been able to shed any light on the situation.

_Who were his parents?_ Sig had asked as casually as he could manage.

_Dunno. He and Samos just showed up in the village one day when Jak was just a kid. Old Lump-on-a-log wouldn't ever say where he'd come from, just that Jak'd been lost and he'd found him. Jak couldn't speak - never has - and now I dunno if he even remembers._

Either way, it was still incredible, and yet another thing Sig needed to report as soon as he got back to Spargus. This mission had turned out to be just full of surprises.

He was on his own now, leaving both Kraven and Daxter in the care of the monks who were guarding the temple entrance. All thoughts of sleep had fled from his mind upon learning that Mar could be there. Even if the Metal Head was mistaken, he couldn't go back to Damas without making absolutely sure. Besides, if Mar was there, then he was in danger. The kid wasn't anywhere near old enough to be able to defend himself from even the weakest of Metal Heads. He had to find him, and quickly. There was no time for sleep. He'd taken only enough time to bandage his wounds before heading back out.

_Keep a look out,_ he told the others whenever he ran into one of the other teams. _We think someone's kid might've come through the transport ring._

But six hours later there was still no sign of Mar or that he had ever been there. Six hours later he and the surviving members of the group he'd brought with him from Spargus had searched the temple completely. Every Metal Head was gone, every crevice had been checked, and nothing. _Nothing._

Damn it.

Wearily, he made his way back to the entrance, his eyes still searching just in case. Daxter was probably right. It had probably just been Jak the Metal Head had smelled. Soon as he saw the teen, he was going to ask some serious questions about his parentage - assuming Damas didn't beat him to it first. Surely he remembered _something._

Even when he got back to the entrance, though, he still didn't rest. He went straight to the monk in charge of the temple's defenses "All clear?" he asked. He already knew it, it just needed to be confirmed.

The head monk nodded. "Yes," he said, ever solemn in the strange orange armor he wore over his dark black robes. "We thank you and your fellow warriors for their efforts. Convey our regrets to King Damas for the lives of those that were lost."

"And the transport ring?" Sig pressed.

A grimace of distaste crossed the monk's painted face. "We have determined that the ring is indeed how the Metal Heads entered the temple. Traps have been put in place to prevent anyone else from using it without our permission."

"Good." Sig swept his eyes over the wounded that slept in the temple entrance, resting briefly on Kraven before stopping on Daxter. The ottsel was asleep, white bandages showing starkly against his orange fur. It would have been best to let him rest longer, to sleep _himself_ before heading out into the desert, but... "I need to get back to Spargus," he said. "Got a few things Damas needs to hear from me. Tell the others to follow when they're ready."

The monk nodded, bowing his head just slightly. Sig returned the gesture, then walked over to Daxter and crouched down to prod him awake. "C'mon, cherry. We gotta get goin'."

Daxter groaned and curled away from Sig's finger. "G'way, Jak. 'M tryin' to sleep."

"Jak ain't here," Sig said. "He's back in Spargus. You wanna see him, you better come with me." When it looked like the ottsel was going to fall back asleep anyway, he dug his finger into the furball's side. "Don't make me carry you to my vehicle," he threatened. "Trust me, you won't like how I hold animals."

Either the comment or the poking earned him a bleary scowl, but either way, Daxter picked himself up off the ground. "Fine, fine," he grumbled. "I'm going. Lead the-" He yawned. "Lead the way, Sig." It was perhaps a testament to just how tired the ottsel was that he didn't try to add a witty insult or rude comeback of some sort.

Sig shook his head and took a minimal amount of pity on him. "You can sleep in the Dune Hopper on the way there." Or try to, that is. The ride would be long enough, certainly, but if they ran into any Marauders, sleep would be the _last_ thing on anyone's mind. For now, though, the promise was good enough to get the ottsel moving, and there was always a chance that nothing would happen. He'd let Daxter sleep while he could and worry about warning him _after_ the Marauders appeared.

-o-

Even in a city that had very little paper, there still never seemed to be a shortage of paperwork. Unfortunately, when paper was lacking, what that meant was that reports and requests were submitted verbally. Listening to a grizzled old man drone on about the state of the granaries and the rising problem of kangarats, Damas concluded darkly, was worse than having to read about it.

Finally fed up with it, he cut the man off. "We already know that leaper lizards are the kangarats' natural predator," he said. "And they can be trained as mounts. Take two and see if you can train them to hunt on command as well."

"But leaper lizards-"

Damas glared him into submission. "Unless you have a better idea that you haven't shared with me, Viro?" He was well aware of the leaper lizards' shortcomings and general laziness when not being actively ridden or chased. But whether or not the plan actually worked, at least they would be _doing_ something besides standing around and complaining. Maybe then Damas could focus on...

...on one of the other hundred things it took to maintain a city. He bit back a groan and waved Viro away. The man left the throne room, clearly unhappy, but he didn't voice any more protests. Damas breathed a sigh of relief, though he knew the respite would be short-lived. _I never thought I would see the day where I missed the paperwork of Haven,_ he thought with a grimace. _I need to start thinking about delegation._ Perhaps he could get Kleiver to take charge of the kangarat problem...

The rattle of machinery caught his ears, telling him that someone was about to appear on the lift, and he braced himself for more unwelcome administrative duties. However, the man who appeared wasn't who he expected. "Sig!" Damas immediately rose from his throne, startled to note how pale and worn the other man looked. Blood and dust clung to his punctured armor with bits of bandages poking through here and there. He held a bundle of splotchy orange rags in his hands which were equally matted in filth. He hadn't made any attempt to clean up or seek treatment before coming to see Damas. That meant his news was urgent.

"What happened?" he demanded, wasting no time with formalities or concern. The first was not needed and the second could wait.

"What _didn't_ happen?" Sig responded wearily. He looked like he desperately wanted to collapse into a chair, but pride and a lack of any chair in the room besides Damas' throne kept him on his feet. He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Damas, I found out what the Metal Heads are after."

Damas tensed. Something about the way Sig said that, about the way he _looked_ at him, said he wasn't going to like what he heard next. "Tell me," he said, knowing it was better to get it over with than to draw the matter out.

Green eyes met violet and neither man blinked. "Mar," Sig said. "They're huntin' for Mar."

For a moment, it felt like Damas was standing on sand and that everything underneath him had shifted. "What?" he said. Then he forced himself rigid, ruthlessly taking control of his body. He would _not_ show weakness, not even for this. With a glare at Sig, as though the other man was directly responsible for what he was reporting, he gestured peremptorily for him to continue. "What do you mean?"

Taking a deep breath, Sig explained his story. "While we were in the temple, we overheard two Metal Heads talkin', one on a holographic transmitter. Talked about not bein' able to find 'the boy' and that the heir of Mar was the key."

"To what?" Damas asked.

Sig shook his head. "They didn't say. From what I gathered, Mar went through a transport ring somewhere, then didn't come out where they thought he would. Sounded to me like they were checkin' more than one Precursor ring."

Unable to stay still any longer, the king began pacing, unconsciously lifting his hand to rub his chin as he thought. "The good news, then, is that Mar is alive and has eluded their grasp. That is more news than we had before." Indeed, his heart lifted with hope. It was the first concrete piece of evidence they'd had of his son's continued survival ever since he'd been taken away. "We also have a clue to where to search for him next. I do not know why a transport ring would take someone anywhere besides the corresponding end..." He trailed off suddenly and looked at Sig.

Sig had obviously had the exact same though. "Whatever happened to the ring Jak went through," he said, "the same thing might've happened to Mar."

"Which means he could be anywhere," Damas concluded, passing a hand over his face. He sank into his chair, feeling suddenly tired and defeated. Once again they were right back where they started with no clue where to go from there. Because Jak's malfunctioning transport ring hadn't released him from another ring, but had dropped him out of thin air.

However, when Sig did not immediately agree with him, Damas looked up to find the man hesitating. "That... might not necessarily be the case," the other Wastelander said slowly. Carefully, as though handling something delicate, he rolled the bundle of rags over in his hands. Damas blinked in surprised when he realized that it wasn't just cloth, but an animal wrapped in bandages and covered in dirt and sand. "Say hello to Daxter."

"Daxter?" Damas echoed. He did not immediately make the connection.

"One of those friends Jak mentioned was with him when he went through the ring," Sig clarified, immediately catching Damas' interest. "Little chili pepper nearly wet himself when we ran into some Marauders on the way here, passed out when we rolled an' got in a bit of a pileup."

Knowing Sig, that was probably a gross understatement of what really happened. Still, unconscious or not, Damas got up to take a closer look at the creature. Despite the bandages and filth, its breathing was steady. It wasn't like anything that Damas had seen. "What is it? And how do you know that it is one of Jak's friends?"

"He can talk," Sig said. "Calls himself an ottsel. Anyway, my point is, he _did_ come through the transport ring in the temple, so it might've just been fluke that Jak didn't. Lookin' for other rings is still our best bet for finding Mar."

"Hnn." It was a long shot, but Sig was right. With nothing else to go on, they couldn't afford to ignore the one possibility they had. Damas began to internally catalog all the Precursor rings he knew about. As he did so, he examined both the ottsel and Sig again. It was difficult to tell how badly either one was injured, but both, he suspected, were in need of medical attention. He nodded his head toward the lift. "Come," he said. "You both need to be treated, and Jak will want to see his friend. He is... conveniently in the infirmary." Where he was no doubt waiting less than patiently for Damas to show up and release him.

Sig frowned as he followed the king to the lift. "Did somethin' happen to him?"

Damas grimaced at the recollection of the previous day's events. "He has an unfortunate ability to find trouble when left to his own devices," he stated grimly. "He entered the arena by accident yesterday."

As they stepped onto the lift together and prepared to descend, Sig looked at Damas sharply. "How the hell do you enter that by accident?"

"Through a combination of bad luck, his inability to speak, and being in the wrong place at the wrong time," Damas said dryly.

"And the kid?"

"Shaken, but otherwise he will be fine. He emerged victorious and with minimal injury." He could not help his smile of amusement at the look of incredulity that Sig gave him. "And he did it all with only his wits and his hands. It is a pity that he is not actually trying to become part of Spargus. Skill and intelligence such as that would be welcome."

"Damn," Sig murmured, obviously impressed.

When they reached the bottom, they stepped off, but the conversation did not immediately resume. Damas saw another of his advisers coming down the street and shook his head. _Not now._ Whatever report the woman had could wait until he'd finished with Sig. The woman's lips thinned with annoyance, but when her eyes flicked to the man walking beside the king, noting both his identity and his condition, she nodded. She understood.

After another few moments of walking in silence, Damas spoke again. "To be honest, I am uncertain what to do with him. He needs a guiding hand, but I cannot always be there. I am far too busy a man."

"But anyone you assigned to watch him would resent bein' his babysitter," Sig noted, understanding the dilemma.

"Indeed. He is no doubt taxing the patience of the monk acolytes in the infirmary as we speak." He pursed his lips as he considered the problem. A look of calculation crossed his face. "In theory, now that he has earned the first part of an amulet, however unintentionally, he is fair game to send on missions. He could be useful, if he is willing." Missions would be the ideal way to keep the boy occupied, to hone his skills, and to teach him the lessons in life that he was so obviously lacking.

Unfortunately, Jak was different from every other man or woman who had made their way to Spargus. He was neither in Damas' debt, nor did he wish to earn a place in the city. Damas had no true hold over him other than the promise of help in finding his home and the fact that he could throw the boy to the Wastes if he so chose, and he was not certain that either would be sufficient leverage if Jak took it into his head to refuse.

"Damas." The tone of Sig's voice was that of a man about to plunge into unknown depths, and it successfully pulled the king's attention from his thoughts. Sig drew a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "There's somethin' you need to know about Jak."

Damas arched a naked brow. "Oh?"

"Daxter says he can channel eco."

He blinked for a moment, then recalled that Sig had not been in the city since early yesterday morning and that he had never gone into detail about why he had given Jak a gun. "Ah. Yes, I already know. I caught the boy playing with eco he collected from bullets." Sig didn't need to know about the rest of what had happened. Even as much as he trusted the man, some secrets were best kept secret.

Sig frowned at Damas' unruffled response. "So what does that mean?" he asked. "He some long lost cousin of yours?"

"I doubt it." They turned down another street, carefully sidestepping a line of carts that was heading down to the marketplace. "To my knowledge, there are no other branches of the House of Mar. I would like to think that news of such a family would have reached my ears if it existed. No, it is more likely that Jak's ability is a coincidence of breeding. Just as there was a first channeler in the House of Mar, he may be the first channeler in whatever family he came from." Still, if they ever found where the boy came from, it would be interesting to speak to his parents.

There was silence again as the other Wastelander chewed on that. Then, speaking slowly, as though he wasn't certain what he was getting himself into, he said, "You know, if I'm gonna be huntin' around Precursor rings, I'll be dealin' with a lot of Precursor technology. Might help to have someone who can channel eco with me."

Damas looked at him in surprise. Was he suggesting...?

The questioning look earned him a shrug. "He's a good kid an' he can fight. Could do a lot worse than partnerin' him on a mission."

Damas nodded, frowning as he considered it. Could he trust Jak to search for his son? Not that Jak would know the exact identity of who he was looking for, but still. Would he prove more asset or liability? Could he truly be relied upon for something as important as this? This was only his third day in the city. How much did they really know about him?

"Perhaps a different mission first," he said, shaking his head. "Something for you to get the measure of him." It would need to be short, because the more they delayed the search for Mar, the more time that gave the Metal Heads to find him. But he could not simply trust the boy without testing him. "And this is assuming that he will cooperate."

"You'll just have to ask him, then. You got somethin' specific in mind?"

"There are a few options I am considering. By the time you are recovered enough to head out, I should have something decided." Which, judging by Sig's exhausted appearance, wouldn't be until at least nightfall. That would give Damas plenty of time.

When they arrived at the infirmary, Damas opened the door and held it for the other man, whose hands were still full with carrying the unconscious ottsel. Sig nodded his appreciation for the gesture as he stepped inside. They barely had time to greet the harried monk inside, however, when Jak flew off his bed with a startled cry.

**-End Chapter Thirteen-**


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

**-Chapter Fourteen-**

_Daxter!_ It was him. It had to be him. Jak would recognize him anywhere. But he was lying limp and still in Sig's hands and _oh god, oh god, what happened to him?_ He immediately reached out to take his friend, but Sig stopped him with a shake of his head.

"Let the monk look at him," he said sternly. "That's his job and he's good at it." Shouldering past Jak, he set Daxter down on the nearest bed, then stepped back to allow the monk access. Jak was instantly at the bedside, anxiety demanding that he be _there_, as close to Daxter as possible. The monk shot him an irritated look, as he had all the other times Jak had tried to get a closer look at what he was doing, but this time he didn't try to shoo the boy away. That was just as well, because there was _no way_ Jak was going to let himself be brushed aside. It was everything he could do not to start peeling off Daxter's filthy bandages himself.

With his attention fixated on what the monk was doing to his injured friend, Jak was only peripherally aware of Sig and Damas. He certainly didn't catch the look that passed between the two. However, when Damas spoke to him, he at least glanced up to look at him.

"I suppose this means you are not interested in being released from the infirmary," he said dryly.

Jak snorted. _No. I'm not leaving Daxter._ If Daxter hadn't been there, it would have been another story entirely, but his boredom and agitation at being cooped up were completely forgotten in the face of the ottsel's condition. Even the nightmares he'd had during the night felt dim and far away. None of that mattered now. Not when his friend was hurt and needed him.

The king nodded as though he had been expecting that answer. "Very well, then. My orders to remain here stand. I will return in the afternoon. Sig..." He trailed off. But whatever he was going to say didn't need to be said, because Sig just nodded while unbuckling his armor. Satisfied, Damas returned the gesture, then turned and left the room.

For a moment, Jak felt like he'd missed something important, but then a soft groan from the bed effectively banished the thought from his mind. Jak's eyes snapped back to his friend, who was wincing as the monk applied some sort of green paste to his wounds.

"Ow ow ow, watch the fur," Daxter protested weakly.

Relief flooded through Jak's mind. Without thinking, he reached out to touch Daxter's head, which, though matted with dirt and something oily, didn't seem to have any injury. The warmth and life he felt was reassuring and the feeble complaints were music to his ears. _Daxter. You're all right._

The touch immediately drew the ottsel's attention, and when he saw who it was, his furry face immediately lit up. "Jak! You sand-brained son of a yakkow, where the hell have you been? Why weren't you- Ow!"

"Lie still!" the monk hissed, placing a hand on Daxter's back to keep him from sitting up.

Jak shook his head, backing up the monk on this one. _Don't move, Daxter. He's a healer._ He frowned, scratching the back of his head. _I think?_ He was a little confused about that. Damas had said that the monks served Spargus, but somehow he hadn't sounded like he was talking about healing. Or not _just_ healing. Maybe they just took turns treating injuries and there were other things they did.

"Oh, now _that's_ reassuring," Daxter said sarcastically. "You want me to hold still for some quack with bad taste in clothes and you're not even sure he can heal?" He winced again, this time because the monk had started briskly swabbing muck from the wound in his thigh.

_He can heal!_ Jak protested, pointing at his chest. Granted, he didn't think this monk had been the one to bandage the cut he'd gotten in the arena, but that detail didn't matter and it helped get his point across. Daxter was good at understanding his gestures, but Jak still had to make sure he was clear. The ottsel couldn't read his mind, after all. Besides, the man _could_ heal. He'd seen him treat plenty of other people just this morning.

Daxter frowned, eyeing Jak's shirtless, bandaged chest as though finally noticing it for the first time. "Hey, what happened?" he asked. "You weren't in that temple, too, were you?"

_It's..._ Jak hesitated, suddenly finding it easier to look at the bed. _It's complicated._

"So uncomplicate it for me."

But it wasn't as simple as that. Jak didn't want to tell Daxter about the arena. He didn't want to talk about the blood or the fighting or what he had done. He didn't think Daxter would blame him or look at him any differently, but so long as he didn't know, then part of Jak could pretend that it had never happened. Besides, his thoughts and feelings were so bunched and twisted that he didn't know if he could pick them apart and put them into coherent words. He gave his friend a pleading look. _Not now, Daxter._

Daxter continued to look at him, now clearly concerned, but he didn't press the issue. Instead, he just reached a paw up and placed it on top of Jak's much larger hand. "It's okay, buddy. You'll tell me when you're ready."

Daxter understood. He always did. With a wan smile, Jak placed his other hand on top of the ottsel's. He'd never been so grateful to have a friend like him.

-o-

Watching Jak and Daxter communicate was both baffling and impressive and it made Sig appreciate just how much effort Jak had put into his attempts to talk to him and Damas. Where before he'd needed pictures and sometimes written words as well as exaggerated hand waving and body language, with Daxter his gestures were so subtle that sometimes Sig didn't even realize that he'd "said" anything. But Daxter picked them up immediately and clearly understood every nuance that Jak was expressing. Perhaps even more than Jak intended.

Right now, the ottsel was doing his best to distract the teen from what had turned out to be a touchy subject. _Shaken_, Damas had described the boy's reaction to fighting in the arena. Apparently shaken pretty badly. Sig wondered exactly what had happened.

"So there we were!" Daxter exclaimed dramatically. "With the biggest, nastiest monster you ever saw breathing down our necks! I'm talkin' teeth and claws the size of daggers, razor sharp spines all over its body, and a tail so long is was like a whip! But did I back down? No! I grabbed Kraven's gun and marched right up to that overgrown Lurker an' said '_Listen_, buddy, you don't mess with my pals! Not if you don't want me to shove this gun up your butt and...'"

Sig snorted softly. With every breath that Daxter took, the story became even more outrageous. Still, he didn't bother to correct the ottsel. Jak was obviously entertained, grinning and laughing silently at his furry friend's antics. Of course, this only encouraged Daxter to further heights of fabrication.

Daxter waved his arms wildly. "It tried to eat me! I swear, I'm not kidding! It actually _put me in its mouth_ and _chomped down_. Let me tell you, I had to do some pretty fast thinking to get out of that one. You wanna know what I did, Jak?" He barely waited for Jak's obliging nod before shouting, "I grabbed its tongue and made it bite down on that instead! It couldn't spit me out fast enough after that, and- hey, don't laugh at me like that. Monster spit in your fur ain't a laughing matter, Jak! Especially not _this_ monster's spit. I think it had _acid_ in it. Two more seconds and I would've been a puddle of ottsel goo. _Then_ where would you be?"

"In a much quieter room," the monk muttered as he wrapped a final bandage around Sig's arm. His voice didn't carry to the two friends, though, and so the tall tale continued. Sig started tuning it out, turning his attention instead on the man beside him.

"Anything I need to worry about?" he asked, indicating his injuries.

The monk pursed his lips. "The wounds themselves are, for the most part, superficial - and I use that term only as a Wasteland warrior would. You have no doubt suffered far worse. But something has aggravated them, and through them the rest of your body. I would tell you to rest for a week to allow yourself to heal completely, but I know you will not. One or two days, however, is the absolute minimum that you need."

Sig grunted at the answer, but didn't volunteer the information about what had aggravated his injuries. If he couldn't handle a little brush with dark eco from time to time, he'd be pretty pathetic battling Metal Heads. _Tomorrow, then._ He felt confident that tomorrow he'd be able to go on whatever mission Damas picked.

His eyes went back to the duo on the next bed. Jak was sitting crosslegged, chin in hand with one elbow propped on his knee, and his attention was completely devoted to the freshly cleaned and bandaged ottsel sitting in front of him. Daxter's pack of lies seemed to be going strong, now focusing on their trip back to the temple entrance.

"Hey, doughboys," Sig interrupted. "You mind pipin' down? You two may be fresh as daisies, but I ain't slept since yesterday." Honestly, the pillow on his bed had never looked so inviting. Well, at least not since the last time he was dead on his feet.

The two boys exchanged sheepish glances, then Daxter spoke for them both. "Sorry," he said. His voice was much notably quieter. Then Jak added something, lifting his eyebrows in question. Before Sig could try to translate it, though, Daxter stepped in. "You all right?"

And just like that, the missing piece slid into place, the reason why Jak had managed to live this long without being able to speak. The answer sat right in front of him in the form of a loudmouthed animal who could sit on shoulders with ease, who talked enough for two people, and who could translate Jak's "words" so quickly they might as well have been his own. Daxter was Jak's voice.

Sig wasn't so sure he liked that. He narrowed his eyes as he considered the implications. Jak _had_ a voice, Sig was certain of it. He'd heard the kid yell as he'd fallen from the sky, and again when he'd first seen Daxter. But if Daxter always spoke for him, he would have had no reason to try to learn to speak. Whatever was responsible for Jak's initial muteness, the problem wasn't being dealt with.

"I'll be fine," he said, answering Daxter's - _Jak's_ - question. Internally, he filed the observation away. There wasn't anything to do with it now, but after he'd had some rest, he would think about what, if anything, he could do about it later. "No Metal Head's bad enough to keep _me_ down. A little sleep's all I need and I'll be back on my feet." He gave the two a pointed look as he laid back and settled into his bed. Oh man, did that feel good.

It was an age old trick of seasoned warriors to be able to fall asleep anywhere and at any time, to take advantage of even a few quiet minutes because they never knew when the next opportunity would come up. Sig was nothing if not seasoned. He was out like a light within minutes.

-o-

It actually wasn't long after Sig fell asleep that Daxter started yawning, too. His excuse was that he'd been up late fighting monsters, then had had his sleep interrupted by Sig's crazy driving and people trying to shoot at them, not to mention the fact that he was wounded. Jak didn't mind when the ottsel curled up on the bed and fell silent, even though it left him with nothing to do but lay there beside him and watch as the monk put away his medical supplies. The inactivity that had driven him up the wall earlier didn't bother him so much now that he had Daxter.

Eventually, he got tired of staring at the monk and let his eyes wander over to Sig. The Wastelander looked different without his armor on, not as big or intimidating - although that false eye of his was still a little creepy, especially while he was sleeping. The man had very short, very blond hair, so pale it was almost white, making Jak second guess his original estimation of Sig's age. He didn't really have any wrinkles on his face, other than the one between his brows that he got from scowling, but if his hair was graying...

Or maybe it was just naturally that color. Jak shrugged, deciding it didn't matter. Sig was Sig either way.

After maybe an hour of this, Jak finally slid out of the bed and began to wander the room. Only one other bed was occupied now, by one of the same people as the day before. Jak avoided this bed, not wanting to disturb the man even by accident. He was obviously very badly injured. He hadn't woken once in all the time that Jak had been there.

He nearly jumped when the monk suddenly spoke. "If you need something to occupy yourself with," he said, "you can strip the sheets from the bed in the corner and replace them with clean ones. After that, I have some herbs that need to be crushed."

Jak blinked at the man, surprised at the offer. Since he'd woken up, the monk had been untalkative and frustratingly unhelpful beyond providing him with food and checking his bandages. Busy with the Wastelanders that came in to have injuries treated, the man had held no sympathy for Jak's boredom.

The man caught the look and shrugged indifferently. "If you have nothing to do, you may as well be useful."

It was an unconscious, probably unintentional echo of Damas' admonition about usefulness, but it still reminded Jak of the Wastelander king, and that didn't help his emotional turmoil at all. He was still unhappy with the man, even though maybe he could see where he thought he was coming from. But just because a system worked didn't mean it was right. Letting all those people die just so _one_ person could join the city - letting _anyone_ die, for that matter - screamed against everything Jak believed in. Lives were valuable. Just because someone made a mistake or couldn't fight didn't mean they couldn't be useful and it shouldn't mean that they should die. Jak wished he had the words to express all that.

For lack of anything else to do, Jak busied himself with the tasks that the monk had set for him. He soon found the chores to be a good distraction from his thoughts, and when the bed was changed and he'd finished turning the dried leaves into a fine powder, he looked to the man for another assignment.

The monk was more than happy to oblige.

People came and went, some more sick or hurt than others, and two more beds became occupied. Jak watched, this time from a distance, as the monk treated each person, sometimes with this jar, sometimes with that bottle, with bandages and thread and needle, and with very little green eco. It was quickly becoming obvious that the healing energy was not common around here, or that almost all of it was being funneled into that shield. The monk's work was skilled and efficient, though, and he soon had his patients back out the door.

Around midday, he was replaced, this time by an older, female monk whose features were made even more stern by the paint on her face. After exchanging a few words with the other monk, she eyed Jak for a moment, then gave a sharp nod. "Good," she said approvingly. "There's always more work to be done around here than we have time to do. You can help me scrub the bed pans next."

Oh joy. Jak's face fell into a grimace, but apparently it was too late to back out now. The older monk had already placed a hand on his shoulder and was leading him into a small side room with a tub, several baskets of dirty sheets, and, yes, a stack of bed pans waiting to be washed. A distinct odor wafted up from them, so sharp and acrid it made him want to gag. _Ugh._

"There's soap and rags in the cabinet," the woman said with a thin smile. "The tub should already have water in it. When you're finished, come and get me, and I'll find something else for you to do." Then, not giving Jak any chance to protest or ask for something else, she turned and left, leaving the teen alone with his task.

Jak scowled at the monk's retreating back, then at the stack of bed pans that sat waiting for him. This was _not_ how he had envisioned spending his time waiting for Daxter to wake up. Folding sheets and making beds was one thing, and grinding herbs had been kind of fun in a usefully destructive way, but cleaning up other people's waste went beyond unappealing.

Unfortunately, he didn't think he was being given a choice in the matter. Something about the monk's smile had made it clear that he _would_ clean the bed pans - or else. Jak didn't know what that implied "or else" might be, but he had a feeling that he didn't want to find out. With another grimace of distaste, he reluctantly sat down to work.

-o-

When Damas finally made it back to the infirmary, he felt a moment of alarm when he did not see either Jak or his creature friend anywhere in the room. However, Sig looked up from his attempts to mend his armor and caught his eye, then jerked a thumb in the direction of the washroom. "Ashal's got them doin' laundry," he said, looking wickedly amused. "Apparently Jak got bored and started helpin' out, and she's taking full advantage of it. Daxter made the mistake of laughing."

"Ah." Damas tilted his head, listening, and sure enough, he could hear a stream of irritated grumbling mixed in with the soft splashing of water. A smile tugged at the corner of the king's lips as he glanced at the woman in question. "Up to your usual tricks again, I see."

The old monk smirked back as she folded freshly dried sheets. "It works to get people out of my infirmary who don't need to be here and it gets my chores done faster. I fail to see how either outcome is a bad thing."

"Indeed." He had to force the smile off his face as he headed for the washroom. "But I'm afraid I must steal your assistants now. There are things I must discuss with them. Sig, you too."

Sig nodded and set his tools down, then started putting his armor back on. The punctures that had been there were noticeably less visible.

Ashal just shrugged, completely unsurprised. "Whatever's left will wait until I can get to it."

Stepping into the doorway to the washroom, Damas found Jak up to his elbows in soapy water and the ottsel, Daxter, sitting perched on the boy's shoulder, wringing water out of his tail.

"I swear, that old hag's worse than Samos," the creature growled. "I mean, look at me! I'm injured! I shouldn't be getting my bandages wet scrubbin' other people's sheets!"

Jak blew a breath out in a short, soft laugh, then lifted a hand to flick a few drops of water onto the ottsel's nose. The expression on his face turned wry as he curled and uncurled his fingers. Daxter scowled at whatever he'd said.

"Whaddaya mean, goofing off? I'm workin' just as hard as you, Jak! Those soap bubbles were in my way, that's all. Unlike _some_ people whose arms are still _long_, I can't just reach right through them. I was moving them so I could see! I- oh, hey, company." Cutting off in the middle of an obviously pathetic excuse, the ottsel blinked up at the Wasteland king curiously. "Somethin' we can help you with?"

Jak pulled his other hand out of the water and twisted around to see who his friend was talking to. When he saw Damas, though, his expression became suddenly closed off. Damas supposed he was still upset over the events of yesterday.

_He'll get over it,_ he dismissed the thought curtly. For the ottsel's benefit, he said, "I am Damas, the ruler of Spargus. Jak." He turned his attention back on the boy. "I need to speak with you." He gestured for Jak to follow, then turned away. "But not here. Come with me back to the map room." Without looking back, he strode purposefully out of the infirmary. Sig quickly fell in behind him.

Obedience. It was but one of the many qualities Damas wanted to test Jak on. Would the boy do as he was told, or would he let personal feelings get in the way? His ears picked up a third set of footsteps behind his and Sig's and he nodded to himself. Good. That was a promising start.

"Wow," came Daxter's murmured voice as they emerged from the building. "And I thought _Sandover_ had lots of sand. Sheesh, even Sentinel Beach had _some_ green stuff."

The words earned the ottsel a glance from Damas. "So you support Jak's story of coming from a place called Sandover," he said. Jak had made himself more than clear at this point, but it was still good to have verbal confirmation. _Hnn. Perhaps talking with this creature will reveal a clue to where this "Sandover" is located._ He made a note to bring it up after dealing with the issue at hand.

"What, you've never heard of it?" Daxter answered blithely. His feet slid on Jak's bare shoulder, forcing him to latch onto the boy's goggle strap to steady himself. Jak put up with it without blinking an eye, apparently quite used to being used as transportation. "Huh, that Precursor ring must've taken us farther than I thought. I was thinkin' maybe we were somewhere near the Volcanic Crater, since it's so hot here. I bet the Red Sage would just _love_ this place."

"Red Sage?" Sig asked, unconsciously echoing what Damas was thinking. His brows were furrowed in puzzlement as he looked at Daxter. "You mentioned sages before, back in the temple. What are they?"

The ottsel's ears laid back flat on his head. "Lazy old men with too much time on their hands, if you ask me," he said scornfully. "Not that that stops them from makin' _us_ do all their dirty work. Isn't that right, Jak?" Jak rolled his eyes and poked a finger into his friend's belly, earning a swat on his ear from Daxter. "No, I am _not_ bitter because they couldn't change me back. For your information, I've decided I _like_ bein' short and furry. I think it'll help me pick up chicks. Chicks _dig_ fuzz."

Jak looked like he could barely contain his laughter.

Damas, on the other hand, was this close to scowling. For all that Daxter talked, he seemed to have a difficult time actually answering questions. In fact, his answers only brought up _more_ questions, distracting Damas from his original line of thought. He wondered if it was intentional. "The sages?" he pressed. The baffling reference to a change in Daxter's appearance could be returned to later.

"Oh, right." He scratched his head as though trying to figure out what to say. "Well, there's four of 'em. Used to be six, if you counted Gol and Maia, although I'm not sure if Maia was really a _sage_, per se. Each one studies one kind of eco and nothin' else." He shrugged. "Not much else to say."

That was when Jak chipped in, raising his eyebrows and making a complicated motion with his hands that ended with forming circles above his eyes. Daxter nodded without missing a beat. "Jak says he told you about Samos. He's the Sage of Green Eco."

A sage of eco. Damas had never heard of the like. But he also did not know many people who had such time on their hands, not in Haven and especially not here. The struggle to survive, both against the Metal Heads and the Wasteland itself, consumed far too much time and effort. The monks were the closest thing to scholars that they had in the desert and their studies focused mainly on the Precursors.

He might have considered pursuing the conversation, somewhat interested about who these sages were, but that was when they arrived at the door to the room that had all the maps he and Jak had been looking over. As soon as he had ushered them all in and they had taken their seats, he pulled out one map in particular and spread it out in front of them. His expression became utterly serious.

"My scouts have reported that Baron Praxis, the current ruler of Haven, has been moving large amounts of eco outside of the city. What they have not been able to determine is what is being done with that eco. The farthest they have been able to follow him undetected is here." He pointed to a forested area on the map just outside of Haven. He met Sig's eyes, then Jak's in turn, and said grimly, "I don't like not knowing what Praxis is up to. His methods for fighting the Metal Heads do not always align with others' best interests."

Sig frowned as he eyed the map. "You want me to tail him?" he asked. "I can do that, but..." He trailed off, giving Damas the opening he was looking for.

"But it would be better if you had someone with you to watch your back," Damas concluded for him. He gave the man a very slight nod, then turned his full attention on the startled blond beside him. "Which is where you come in, Jak. You may not be a Wastelander, but I have seen your skill and know that you can hold your own. What sets you apart from anyone else I could ask, though, is your ability to channel eco. Whatever Praxis is doing with the eco he is moving, if it becomes necessary to stop him, your ability could prove invaluable."

He gave the teen a penetrating look, then stated bluntly, "You are under no obligation to accept this, Jak, but I want you to go with Sig."

**-End Chapter Fourteen-**


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

**-Chapter Fifteen-**

"Say what?" Daxter butted in. "Wait a minute, let me get this straight." Scowling, he let go of Jak's goggles so that he could point an accusing finger at Damas. "You want to send me and Jak off to who knows where so we can protect Sig while he spies on some guy? What exactly are we protecting him _from?_"

It was a good question, one that Jak wanted to know the answer to. It also delayed having to make a decision, and with the state that his mind was in, that was something he needed. Damas' request had caught him off guard and he didn't know how to respond.

"I am asking _Jak_ to go, not you," the king said flatly. "And if you choose to accompany him, you had better know how to be silent. There are two dangers on this mission, the Metal Heads and Praxis' men. Either one is just as likely to kill you as the other, so do not draw their attention."

"Whoa, hold on!" Alarm flew across the ottsel's face, making his eyes widen almost comically. "I just got _out_ of a place filled with those Metal Head things. Those things are nasty with a capital N! Jak-!"

Jak touched Daxter's foot and shook his head. _I know, Dax._ He smiled wryly, making clawing motions with his hand. _I've fought them, too._

"Then you should know that they're nothin' but bad news," Daxter said, biting the last two words off with a decisive glower. Folding his arms across his chest, he jerked his head to the side in refusal. "Sorry, Mr. Sand King, but we're gonna have to turn you down. Me and Jak like bein' whole and healthy."

_Wait._ Jak bit his lip as he looked at Damas, then at Sig. Sig hadn't said anything during this whole exchange, but he was watching, his face completely neutral. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, and in a way, Jak appreciated that. He felt no pressure from the man to accept. But Damas... His eyes were drawn back to the king.

Damas' expression was also inscrutable, but Jak couldn't help but feel like he was being weighed on an invisible scale. Everything the teen said and did was being noted, and despite the mixed feelings he had about the man, he found that he still cared about Damas' opinion. He couldn't just dismiss this mission out of hand.

_Sig helped us,_ he thought slowly. His hands almost absentmindedly made the motions to communicate this thought to Daxter. _And... Damas has been helping me._ He'd helped Jak try to find Sandover and had taught him and advised him about fighting with a gun. He'd even indirectly helped reunite Jak with Daxter. Whatever other faults he had, if it hadn't been for him and Sig, Jak may never have found his friend. Daxter might even be dead.

And what was this mission, really? To go with Sig, who Jak was coming to think of as a friend, and protect him while he spied on someone. Maybe do something about this eco if it was being put to bad use. Thinking back to Gol and Maia, he knew that eco could be very badly abused.

_I think..._ He hesitated, then decided to plunge ahead with his gut feeling. _I think we should go with Sig. They need us and... and we owe them._

Never eager to face danger, Daxter's face fell. "But Jak..." he protested halfheartedly. "We haven't even healed up yet." Then, knowing full well that injury had never stopped his friend from doing anything, he added, "And we don't know what happened to Keira or Samos. Shouldn't we be worrying about finding _them?_"

_We don't know where they went,_ Jak pointed out. With the map on the table, he was easily able to point to Haven. _That forest is right next to where I came out of the ring. If they came out in the same area, we could run into them while we're helping Sig. I don't know anywhere better to look. Do you?_ Taking pity on his friend, he reached up to rub his head, then pointed at the ground. _You can stay here if you want to._

The ottsel snorted at the suggestion. "Not on your life, Jak. You wouldn't last two minutes without me and you know it. Besides, I just found you. No way am I lettin' you out of my sight again." He paused, eyeing Jak for a moment. "You're already set on this, aren't you."

It wasn't really a question, but Jak nodded anyway.

Daxter sighed. "One of these days, Jak. One of these days..."

With too many ways to finish that sentence, Jak just ignored it. Daxter always grumbled anyway. He'd long since learned not to take his complaints too seriously. He still listened, though, because sometimes Daxter's worries were well founded and because the ottsel was good at spotting problems that Jak didn't always notice. Unfortunately, he remembered with a wince, Jak wasn't always the one to pay for his recklessness.

But this time he felt certain that this was the right decision. This wasn't him exploring someplace he shouldn't just because he was curious. This wasn't even him trying to rescue a wumpbee nest that had fallen in the river. There was a real need here, despite the danger, and Jak just couldn't ignore that.

He met Damas' eyes and nodded. _I'll do it._

Damas nodded back and, though he didn't smile, Jak felt like he'd passed a test. "Good," he said. "Then as soon as you get a shirt and some armor, I want you and Sig to head out. I have word that the next shipment will be moved sometime during the night, which means there isn't a moment to waste. Sig, take Jak to the armory and fit him with something light weight. Jak, I have your gun in my chambers. I will return it to you before you leave." He hesitated for a moment before his expression softened just slightly. "I regret that we did not have time for another lesson."

Jak regarded the man solemnly. So much had happened since that promise had been made, so much to affect his opinion and his feelings, but that didn't change the fact that he _had_ enjoyed those few hours they'd spent out in the desert. Maybe Damas wasn't exactly a model figure, and maybe he did things that Jak just couldn't agree with. Maybe there would be more times where Jak wanted to throw his hands up in frustration and storm away.

But he could still teach Jak, and Jak still wanted to learn. He held out a hand. _You can make it up later._

-o-

The forest outside of Haven was quiet, especially in comparison to the city. Even at night, the city's traffic had been congested, making Jak wonder how so many people could live so close together. Out here, though, there were no zoomers or guards or the low murmur of a dozen conversations. Insects chirped and a few night birds called out, but that was it. It made every noise that he, Sig, and Daxter made stand out in stark contrast. He grimaced as a twig snapped under his boot. _How does Sig move so quietly in these things?_

Fortunately, they hadn't yet found their target and there were no Metal Heads around, so the sound didn't alert anyone to their presence. Jak resolved to be more careful about where he placed his feet and moved on.

The first time they had to cross a river, Jak nearly fell in while leaping from boulder to boulder. That was when he really began to miss his leather wrappings. _I should have brought them,_ he berated himself. He should have known that a forest would be a lot more like his home in Sandover, where shoes like his old ones were very practical things. But they were back in Spargus and he was here, so he would just have to do without.

Actually, it was a little eerie just how much this forest reminded him of home. The trees were the same type that grew in the forest near Sandover and the moss on the rocks was the same shade of green. Even the birds sounded just like the ones he remembered, and every once in a while he would spot a rock formation that almost, _almost_ looked like the ones he knew so well. But there was always something that threw the familiarity off, a stone out of place, a tree that was too big, or a bush that wasn't where it was supposed to be. It was more than a little disconcerting, and Jak tried not to think about it too much.

_Concentrate,_ he reminded himself. He was here to keep an eye out for Metal Heads. He couldn't afford to be distracted by the rocks and plants. He scanned the darkness again, searching for any sign of movement. He nearly ran into Sig when the Wastelander suddenly stopped.

"This is it," the man said, his voice so quiet that Jak had to strain to hear even though he was only a foot away. "The scouts say this's the path Praxis' men take. There's a pass up ahead where they always lose 'em or get spotted. From here on out, I don't wanna hear so much as a peep from either of you. Got it?"

Not that they'd been making much noise before, but Jak nodded and so did Daxter. With a small nudge, Jak encouraged the ottsel to get off his shoulder, then motioned to Sig. _I have an idea._ Crouching down so that he could look Daxter in the eye, he motioned toward the split in the the cliffs. _You up for a little eavesdropping, Dax?_

Daxter made a face at this suggestion, but he didn't immediately voice his typical loud protest. Of course, that might have had something to do with Sig's demand for silence. Still, Jak knew that his friend could be brave when he needed to, as evidenced when Daxter gave a long-suffering sigh and nodded.

Catching on quickly, Sig nodded his approval of the plan, then reached down and removed the small set of goggles that Daxter wore. When Daxter scowled irritably up at him, the Wastelander just smirked. "Anyone spots you, you just pretend to be another dumb animal. Lick yourself or somethin'."

The ottsel's glare became even darker. "Do you even know how gross that is? If you had fur that got covered in dirt and bugs and who knows what else, would _you_ stick your tongue on it?"

"I would if I thought it'd save my life," Sig replied, the smile disappearing from his face as he became serious again. "Now quit yappin' and get goin'. They could be here any minute."

Still crouching on eye level with his friend, Jak ruffled the fur on his head that had been smashed down by the goggle straps. _Thanks, Daxter. We owe you one._

Daxter just rolled his eyes, looking only somewhat mollified. "Yeah, yeah," he grumbled. "I'm going. I swear, you two are gonna owe me big for this." Then, without another word, he dropped to all fours and scurried off into the brush.

Jak looked at Sig.

Sig gestured for Jak to follow him. "C'mon, rookie. I want to take a look at that pass."

-o-

Watching the procession that trundled through the forest, it was difficult for Daxter to believe that anyone could lose track of them. The wagon with the large crates creaked as they rolled over the uneven ground, and he would have to be blind not to be able to follow the tracks they left behind. The men in red armor were just as bad, taking no care to watch where they stepped or to avoid damaging any of the plants in their path. It took everything Daxter had not to snort in derision.

_Man, this is gonna be a piece of cake._ Taking care to move as a normal animal would, the ottsel hopped down from his perch on one of the many boulders in the pass and started working his way closer to the path. As much as he could, he tried to stay out of sight, taking advantage of all the rocks and bushes in the area. In all likelihood, no one would pay him any mind, but that didn't mean he wanted to attract attention. As he drew nearer, he began to pick up a few of the guards' words.

"How soon... there?" The guard's voice was low and muffled, distorted by the helmet he was wearing. Daxter strained his ears.

"...just a... We'll see... minute..."

_Damn it, I can't hear._ Daxter scowled. He'd have to get closer.

"...eco... What... think Praxis... Haven?"

He waited for an opportunity to slip out of his current hiding spot, watching how the guards' heads moved to make sure they weren't looking in his direction. When his chance came, he took it, darting down the slope to the next closest bush. Then he paused and listened.

"Not... place to say. ...Baron knows... doing."

Good. They hadn't noticed him. Unfortunately, Daxter still wasn't close enough to hear everything they said. _Wouldn't it be nice,_ he mused as he slithered through a patch of tall grass, _if I could just hop on that wagon? Forget tryin' to follow them, they'd just take me right there._ And he'd be in a perfect position to hear every word they said.

Actually... His eyes narrowed. The more he thought about it, the more he liked that plan. The hardest part would be getting on the wagon unnoticed, but from there on out it'd be smooth sailing.

"You two!" a third guard barked, addressing the two guards farthest back. "Go back... sure no one... like last time." The two guards saluted and split off from the group, heading back the way they'd come. Daxter assumed the order he'd only half heard had been to make certain they weren't being followed. He silently wished his companions luck, hoping that they would remain undetected.

In the mean time, though, the loss of two guards was exactly the opening he needed to act on his plan. With no time to waste, he slipped out of the grass and sped across the road, circling around so that he came up from behind the wagon. Luck was with him and he made it before the rest of the guards reformed their ranks to make up for the absent men. He bolted under the wagon, heart beating rapidly inside his small chest, but no one shouted in alarm or-

"What was that?"

_Aw crap!_ Daxter's eyes darted around frantically, but it was too dark to see anything. He reached up and blindly groped for something, anything to latch onto and pull himself out of sight. His paws ran across lots of cold, twisting machinery, but no gaps large enough to hide an ottsel body. _Damn it damn it damn it!_

"Looked like some kind of animal," another voice said. "Check it out."

A light flashed under the vehicle, finally giving Daxter a good look at its belly, but it was too late to hide. He froze as a guard poked his head beneath the wagon and instantly spotted him. For a moment, the two stared at each other, the guard's face unreadable behind his helmet and mask. Then the guard's shoulders relaxed just a little.

"Looks like someone's pet," he called out to the others. "Not sure what kind, but I can see bandages on it."

Daxter cursed his idiocy for not pulling the bandages off. Even if his injuries weren't healed yet, the things were a dead giveaway that he wasn't a normal forest animal.

Another head joined the first. It was the guard who'd issued the orders earlier. "Huh. Pretty lost if it's all the way out here."

"Should we leave it?" the first guard asked.

The commander paused as he considered the question. When he spoke again, his voice was stern. "No. I want to know who it belongs to. Catch it and see if it's got an identification tag. If it tries to escape, shoot it. I don't like this. It's too convenient to run into it when we're about to deliver this eco."

"Yes, sir."

Daxter's beating heart nearly stopped in his chest right there. Dropping to all fours, he cowered back as the guard pulled out a gun and aimed it with one hand. _Aw, damn it, I should never have listened to Jak!_

"Come on, little fella," the guard said, holding out his other hand and crooking his finger. "Come here. I'm not gonna hurt you."

_You expect me to believe _that? Daxter stared at the guard incredulously. _That guy just ordered you to shoot me if I run!_ He eyed the gun nervously, remembering all too well how much damage one of those things could do to a Metal Head. He didn't want to think what it would do to _him_.

But either that was exactly what the guard expected, or else he just didn't realize that Daxter could understand every word he said, because he continued to try to coax the ottsel to come out from under the wagon. "There, come on, that's a good boy. Just come a little bit closer. I've got some cheese in my pocket. You like cheese, don't you?"

If this guy had any cheese on him anywhere, Daxter would kiss a Lurker. Still, if the guard was dumb enough to think that Daxter would come willingly, that could be turned to his advantage. Slowly, the ottsel started to crawl towards the outstretched hand.

"That's right, come here. Good, _good_ boy."

It took every ounce of his self control not to roll his eyes. When he was just a few inches away, he paused, waiting for the guard to reach. Sure enough, pleased and thinking that his plan had worked, the guard stretched his hand out. "Good-"

Daxter _bolted_. The guard let out a started yelp, but he was too slow and his position was too awkward for him to do anything to stop the ottsel. Still, he wasn't out of the woods just yet. There were several more guards to get past, and every one of them had guns. But it was dark and there was plenty of cover for a creature as small as him. If he could just get off the path-

"Gotcha!"

Before he'd barely made it out from under the wagon, a hand clamped down on his neck.

Damn it, he'd forgotten about the commander!

**-End Chapter Fifteen-**


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

**-Chapter Sixteen-**

While they waited for either word from Daxter or for the Krimzon Guard to appear, Jak and Sig explored the pass deeper in, trying to figure out how the previous scouts had managed to lose the trail of the Baron's men. Even weeks after the last shipment of eco had passed through, Sig could still see signs of the wagon's passage. The pass itself branched off further on, but the tracks never made it that far. They just stopped in the middle of nowhere, then apparently turned back.

Sig frowned. There had to be something else going on here, something they couldn't see.

To his left, Jak knelt down and examined a patch of earth. The ground didn't look at all remarkable to Sig, but when the kid's fingers passed over it, a few flecks of green flew up to his hand. _Eco._ Transported in such concentrated amounts, traces of it must have escaped and soaked into the ground. Surprised, the Wastelander moved over to join the him. _Can you track this?_ he asked silently, pointing at the ground and lifting his eyebrows in question. It was the eco's movement they were interested in, after all, not the Baron's men.

Jak scrunched his eyebrows in concentration, feeling the ground in a slow, sweeping motion as he crawled forward. At first he followed the path of the wagon, but right at the spot where the wheel tracks stopped, he veered off course and headed for the base of the cliff. Every once in a while, traces of eco crackled around his hand or swirled up to dance in the air like fireflies. Mostly it was green, but bits of blue, red, and yellow also crept in. Jak scratched at his leather vest, right above where he had been wounded. The green eco was probably helping to heal him.

Unfortunately, the trail dead-ended with even more finality than the wagon tracks had, stopping right at the base of the cliff. The blond scowled in frustration as he ran his hands over the smooth rock face, but his search turned up nothing. Sig laid a hand on it as well, then came to the same conclusion as Jak. It was too smooth.

_But if there's a door here, how do we open it?_

The wall refused to answer his question. Sig considered knocking on it to confirm that it was hollow, but the low grumble of wagon wheels was already echoing up the pass, so instead he tapped Jak on the shoulder and jerked his head to the right. Best they find someplace to hide. With luck, the Krimzon Guard would reveal everything they wanted to know about what was behind this door.

There weren't many places to hide in this part of the pass, especially for someone as large as him, but at Jak's suggestion, they hoisted themselves up into a leafy tree. Then they waited, holding absolutely still so as not to shake the branches.

It seemed to take an eternity for the wagon to roll around the final bend and into their sight. Sig did a quick count of the men, just in case things turned nasty. Twelve of them. Possibly more coming up behind to make sure they weren't being followed. Not exactly good odds. He let his eyes scan over them again, trying to pick out the leader.

A sharp intake of breath snapped his attention back to the boy beside him. Jak's eyes were large as he stared at the guards and his skin had suddenly gone pale. Sig frowned and put a hand on his shoulder, then followed his line of sight.

At first, all he saw was a guard dressed in red and black, unremarkable from all the others. He held a gun with both hands, ready to use it at a moment's notice, and he looked alert as he looked from left to right. Then, unlike the others, he looked _down_.

That was when Sig noticed the small orange creature that trotted at his side, a set of manacles snapped around his neck in a makeshift leash. The manacles weren't long enough to reach the guard's wrist, but a piece of rope made up the difference. The knot that connected the two was well out of the ottsel's reach while he was on all four feet, but even if he stood up, he wouldn't have time to undo the knot before the guard realized what he was up to. Sig had to stifle the urge to swear.

Daxter had been caught.

Beneath his hand, he felt Jak's body tense. The kid looked like he wanted nothing more than to jump out of the tree right now and rescue his friend, but Sig tightened his grip and shook his head. _No. Bad idea, rookie._ He raised a cautionary hand, then pressed a finger to his lips. _Just wait._ As bad as the situation seemed, it wasn't as bad as it could be. Daxter still seemed to be playing his role of dumb animal, which meant he hadn't been found out. He also hadn't been shot on sight, so the guard probably intended to keep him alive for the time being. That was a good thing. That gave them time to wait for the right opportunity. Rushing in now would only turn the whole thing into a pig's dinner.

When the wagon reached the point where the previous tracks stopped, one of the guards in front called a halt, then issued orders for two of the men to scout ahead while the rest secured the area and began to unload the wagon. Sig mentally pinned this one as the commander of the unit and made sure to keep track of him as he watched the guards' movement.

There was a tense moment when two of the guards passed under the tree that Jak and Sig were hiding in, but like typical city dwellers, they didn't give the tree branches more than a cursory glance, nothing deep enough to penetrate the darkness or the foliage that hid them from view. Still, the Wastelander didn't breathe easy until the two had moved on. His eyes went back to the commander, who was now speaking into a comm unit. Probably the scouts reporting back in. When he finished, he clicked the device off and reattached it to his belt, then turned to address the waiting men.

"All right, everything's clear," he said, loud enough for everyone present to hear. "Start moving the eco up the slope while I open the door. Remember, only the barrels go through the ring. _No one_ is to enter it themselves. There's to be no contact between our group and the group that will pick it up on the other side later on. Understood?"

The question was met with a chorus of "yes, sir", earning an approving nod from the commander. "Good. Then get to work!"

This was the moment that they'd been waiting for. Sig's eyes narrowed and he shifted as he tried to see past the leaves to follow the commander. Jak, on the other hand, seemed torn between doing the same as Sig and keeping an eye on his captive friend. His eyes darted back and forth between the two.

For his part, Daxter trailed behind his captor like an obedient puppy, keeping out from underfoot as the man joined the others rolling barrels up to the blank cliff face that Jak and Sig had been examining - a cliff face that was now splitting open down a previously invisible seam. Sig let out a very soft hiss of frustration. He hadn't been able to see what the commander did to trigger the opening. _Damn it!_

When the door finished opening, the commander stepped aside and started gesturing the men through. From where they were perched, Sig could just barely see the distinctive swirl of light and coppery curve of a transport ring. Light flared as the first barrel was tossed through.

"Private, get that animal out of here," the commander suddenly barked, his voice carrying all the way to Sig's ears.

"Sir?" Daxter's captor came to a startled halt.

The commander pointed at the ottsel, who was now sitting very still. "I don't care how well trained that thing is, if it bolts again, it could trip someone. Take it back to the wagon and tie it to something out of everyone's way."

The guard set his barrel down and saluted. "Yes, sir." Then, with a small tug on Daxter's leash, he started back down the slope. Once they'd returned to the wagon, he untied the leash from around his wrist and looked around for a good place to leave the ottsel. His eyes landed on a small sapling a few feet away from the front of the wagon, muttering something that Sig couldn't hear. With a shrug, he tied the end of the rope around a branch a few feet off the ground, giving Daxter some slack but keeping the knots out of his reach, then bent down to scratch the animal's head. He kept his voice low, making it difficult to pick out all his words. "Be... good boy and... here."

Daxter's eyes closed in apparent bliss as the gloved fingers slipped behind his ears, which earned him another pat on the head. Satisfied with the response, the guard stood up and rejoined the men unloading barrels. Sig eyed the ottsel for a few moments, trying to think how he could take advantage of this convenient abandonment.

Then Daxter stood up with a scowl and muttered something very dark under his breath. With only a glance to make certain that no one was watching, he clambered up the tree and started working at the knot. At first the knot refused to yield, but after a few minutes of working with his claws and teeth, the rope shredded and pulled apart. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about the manacles on his neck. Every time he moved, they rattled and clinked. No one ever came to investigate the noise, though, and as soon as he was free, Daxter looped the trailing end of the chain around his body.

Jak tried to shake off Sig's hand then, a look of fierce determination on his face. Sig glared and dug his fingers in. "Damn it, rookie, do you want to bring every one of those guards down on our heads?" he hissed, the words coming out barely louder than a breath. There were too many guards going back and forth too close to where they were hiding. If Jak did _anything_ to try to catch Daxter's attention, the ottsel wouldn't be the only one to notice. "Daxter's smart. He'll find someplace to hide."

Sure enough, the ottsel was already moving, staying low to the ground to keep out of sight. It wasn't long before Sig lost view of him entirely. Beside him, Jak clenched his fists in helpless frustration, but he stopped trying to pull away. Sig gratefully loosened his grip.

It felt like an eternity passed as they watched the Krimzon Guard unload barrel after barrel, and in fact the sky was just beginning to brighten with predawn light when the last barrel was rolled through the transport ring. Sig's muscles ached from crouching in the branches for so long and Jak looked just about ready to burst. His fingers twitched every once in a while, though it was difficult to tell if it was pent up energy or anxiety. Probably a mixture of both. Sig kept his hand on the boy's shoulder, not certain if he could trust Jak to keep holding still.

"All right, pack up and move out!" the commander shouted as the door slid closed behind him. "Get that wagon turned around! Make sure not to leave anything behind. You two, start covering up the tracks to the transport ring. Private, go get that animal. Move it, people, move!"

Spurred by the commanders orders, the men burst into a flurry of activity. Sig watched with amusement as the private who had been placed in charge of Daxter trudged back to where he'd left him only to find the chewed and frayed remains of the rope. He didn't need to be able to see he guard's face to read the dismay in the stillness of his body.

"Uh, sir?" the private called out.

"What is it, private?" the commander asked, glancing in the other man's direction.

The private hesitated, then reluctantly reported, "Sir, the animal's escaped."

"What?" The commander strode over to the tree to examine the rope himself, then whipped around and snarled, "Well, what are you standing there for? Find it!"

The guard hastily saluted. "Yes, sir!" Not wanting to be anywhere near his angry commander, he headed straight for the wagon and started looking under it. When that turned up nothing, he climbed into the wagon itself and poked through what supplies remained in it.

But when the other men were ready to go, there was still no sign of Daxter. A few more angry words were exchanged between the commander and the private, too muffled for Sig to hear, but he could imagine well enough the chewing out the guard was receiving. He smirked. _Poor bastard._

At long last, the Krimzon Guard headed out, going back the way they'd come. Responding to orders that must have been issued over the comm, the two forward scouts had rejoined them, which meant that when the last guard finally disappeared from view, Sig was able to breathe a sigh of relief. He waited a few more minutes, then let go of Jak and dropped down to the ground.

"All right, let's-"

"There you are!" With a cry that was half irritation, half relief, Daxter popped out of a bush halfway up the slope and started bounding towards them. The manacles on his neck clinked loudly with each leap, and this time he made no attempt to stifle the noise. "So, you two were just sittin' in that tree while that guard assaulted my dignity, huh? Some friends you are!"

Jak jumped down from the tree only moments after Sig, a broad grin on his face as he spotted his friend safe and sound. That grin only broadened when the ottsel came to a panting halt at his feet and Jak immediately leaned over to scratch the creature's chin. His eyes gleamed with mischief.

Daxter swatted at him. "Hey, cut that out! You think I enjoyed lettin' that guard run his hands all over me? Next time, _you_ get to be the furry pet! See how _you_ like it!"

The corner of Sig's mouth twitched with amusement "Only way Jak's gettin' any furrier is if he grows a beard, an' I don't see that happenin' anytime soon." The kid probably didn't even _need_ to shave.

Jak blinked at Sig's words, then rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Daxter chortled at whatever mental image he conjured. However, Sig felt that the teasing had gone on long enough. He jerked his head toward the hidden door. "Come on, cherries. We still got a job to do."

As Sig made his way up the slope, Jak knelt down just long enough to let Daxter climb back onto his shoulder, then trotted after the Wastelander. Once again, Sig ran his hand over the door, this time concentrating on where he knew it could split open. It was difficult to see, even in the pre-morning light, but his fingers could just barely feel the seam in the fake rock. Pushing on it did nothing, and neither did trying to pry it apart. "Damn," he muttered.

"Why don't you use the lever?" Daxter asked.

Sig frowned at him. "What lever?"

The ottsel looked entirely too smug as he leaned against his best friend's head. "You know, the lever that opens the _door?_ It's right there behind those vines. You mean you didn't see it from your nice, comfortable perch?"

Jak huffed and lightly rapped the ottsel on the back of the head, a move which Sig approved of entirely. "Nice to know you're not completely useless," the Wastelander retorted casually, smirking right back. He was already moving to investigate the vines growing to the side of the door. Sure enough, there was a recessed cubbyhole behind the thickest part, and inside it was a lever that he didn't hesitate to pull. A deep groan issued from inside the cliff as hidden gears turned, then slowly the cliff split apart again and the doors swung in.

"Oh yeah, who's the man!" Daxter crowed, not at all deterred by Jak's reprimand. "Or ottsel. Aw, you know what I mean. You two would be completely lost without me!"

Sig rolled his eyes and this time didn't bother to respond. He was too busy trying to decide what to do about the transport ring that was sitting right in front of them. There was no way to know what was on the other side without going through. Unfortunately, there was also no other way of finding out what Praxis was up to.

Picking up on his indecision, Jak plucked a leaf from the vine and held the stem to his forehead, then pointed at the ring. Sig gave the kid a piercing look. He was right, of course. They couldn't complete the mission that Damas had sent them on unless they continued to follow the eco. But what did it say about Jak that he was willing to jump into a completely unknown situation without a moment's hesitation? Was it loyalty or recklessness? Or was it something else about Jak's character that demanded he follow through on his promises?

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Daxter demanded impatiently. "Are we goin' or not?"

Hell, why not? Whatever it was that motivated Jak, Sig had his own reasons to go through that ring. He _was_ loyal to Damas and would do just about anything the man asked. Besides, the commander of the Krimzon Guard had said that the next group would be picking the eco up _later_, which meant that there was a window of opportunity _now._ If they didn't go, then this whole trip would have been wasted. They hadn't learned anything they didn't already know.

He nodded to the two boys and unslung his Peacemaker. "Right, I'll go first. You two rookies watch my six. Be prepared for anything." He waited for Jak to get his own gun ready, then strode purposefully up to the ring and stepped through.

The world flashed white for a moment, blinding him.

And then all hell broke loose.

It took all of one second to take in the Metal Heads that literally swarmed the area, some carrying barrels of eco on foot, others flying away with their prize in hand. Almost all of the barrels that had been loaded through the ring were gone.

Unfortunately that second of orientation was all it took for them to notice him, too. Sig leaped out of the way of the first Metal Head that lunged at him, then swore as he realized that Jak and Daxter were about to come through and that they'd land practically right on top of the thing. Quickly reversing directions, he slammed the butt of his gun into the Metal Head's chin, knocking it away just as light flashed from the ring again.

"Watch it, Jak!" he shouted, not caring if it was unnecessary. It was better to be safe than sorry, and with this situation, they wouldn't just be _sorry_ if Jak didn't respond immediately.

"Holy shit!" Daxter yelped. "Jak, do something!"

Jak didn't need to be told twice. He was already firing his gun into the horde of Metal Heads, hardly needing to aim to hit an enemy. It was obvious that he was new to fighting with a gun, though, because he shots went wild more often than not and didn't always hit the best target. Still, it made the Metal Heads back off just enough to give Sig a chance to aim.

The first bolt from his Peacemaker took out five Metal Heads at once.

"Damn it, get back through the ring!" He clubbed the next Metal Head that barreled toward him and the thing fell back with a cry of pain.

"Can't!" Daxter shot back as he clung to Jak's shoulder for dear life. "The ring's only one way!"

Sig didn't bother biting back the stream of curses that leapt to his tongue. "Then you'd better get your furry ass in gear and start bustin' some butt, 'cause we're gonna need all the help we can get!" He didn't know what the ottsel could do without a gun, but anything was better than nothing.

Any further conversation was cut off as another wave of Metal Heads descended. Jak continued to fire until they got too close for the gun to be effective, at which point he resorted to his more familiar hand to hand tactics. Daxter jumped off his shoulder and grabbed the first thing that came to hand, throwing a decently sized rock at the nearest Metal Head. Sig bashed another creature over the head, then blasted another group of Metal Heads. _First chance I get, I'm upgradin' this baby,_ he swore to himself. It really, _really_ needed to charge faster.

The luck of the terrain was actually with them. The ring that they had come through was set in an alcove in a cliff similar to the one they'd just let. They may have been trapped, but they had the high ground and the Metal Heads couldn't rush them all at once. As sorry situations went, it could have been worse. But only barely.

"_ENOUGH!_"

Without warning, one of the largest Metal Heads Sig had ever seen dropped from the sky, sending the smaller Metal Heads scattering, and even the ones that were attacking the trio fell back. The creature was vaguely insect-like, with a long scorpion tail and a head that was maned with tentacles. Though the coloring was different in real life, Sig instantly recognized it from the holographic transmission he'd spied on in the temple. _Oh shit._ He pressed his finger firmly on the trigger of his gun, praying he'd have enough time to charge it. He had no idea how much good even the Peacemaker would do against a Metal Head of this size, but he'd be damned if he didn't go down fighting.

Jak took a step back and lifted his gun, apparently thinking the exact same thing.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the heir of Mar." With a nasty chuckle, the Metal Head started lumbering forward. "I chase you through time, boy, and now you fall right into my hands. How convenient. _You_, I suspect, will be much more useful than that pitiful little child has been."

_What?_ Sig shot Jak a startled look, but the teen's face was filled with an equal mix of confusion and defiance. Catching Sig's glance, he shook his head. It was obvious he didn't know what the Metal Head was talking about.

"Hey listen, ugly, why don't you go pick on someone your own size?" Daxter piped up from behind them.

"Oh, I intend to," the monster said with a deadly, toothy grin. "I intend to take on the _whole world_, in fact. And with the help of an heir of Mar, it's not going to stand a chance."

Jak's mouth set into a grim line and, aiming very carefully, he told the Metal Head exactly what he thought of that.

**-End Chapter Sixteen-**


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

**-Chapter Seventeen-**

Jak had no idea what the Metal Head was referring to, but if it thought he was going to help it take over the world, or destroy it, or whatever it was planning, it could think again. Aiming right for the gem that had proven to be the weakness of the other Metal Heads he'd fought, he fired off another shot. The Metal Head roared when the shots connected, but it seemed to be more in irritation than pain. It certainly didn't stop it from coming forward.

"Give up, boy!" the thing snarled. "And maybe I will spare your friends!"

Jak snorted. _Yeah, right._ He wasn't a complete idiot.

"Bullshit!" Sig punctuated the sentiment with a blast from his Peacemaker, the crackling energy slamming into the monster's forehead with enough force to make it stagger. "Metal Heads don't show mercy - and neither do Wastelanders! There's more where that came from, baby!"

Unfortunately, the effect was short-lived. With a shake of its head, the Metal Head righted itself and screeched something that sent every other Metal Head swarming up the slope. Even the ones that were holding barrels of eco dropped what they were doing to join the attack. Jak's eyes widened as he realized just how much trouble they were in. _Oh crap._ Taking his attention off the Metal Head leader, he started pumping round after round of bullets into the Metal Head ranks. Beside him, with less frequent but more powerful shots, Sig did the same thing.

But it wasn't going to be enough and they both knew it.

"Jak, bust open those eco barrels!" Daxter suddenly shouted. The ottsel had stopped throwing rocks at the creatures and was now trying to pry the lid off of one of the barrels in question.

_The eco... Of course!_ If Jak could get hold of some red or yellow eco, they'd stand a much better chance. Even blue or green eco would help. With the first chance he had, he swung his gun to the side and aimed for one of the nearest barrels. It exploded in a shower of green.

"Watch it, Jak!" Sig yelled. "Don't let the Metal Heads get too close!"

Jak quickly spun around, letting out a startled yelp when a small insect-type Metal Head tried to attach itself to his ankle. Kicking the thing away, he fired a few frantic shots to drive the other Metal Heads back. One of his shots missed, hitting another barrel instead. This one was filled with red eco, but it was too far away to do him any good.

He was still trying to buy a little more breathing room so that he could target another barrel when a blaze of white energy plowed through the Metal Heads in front of him. Jak tossed a grateful look at Sig, but the man was too busy to catch it. Buying Jak time had cost him ground with the Metal Heads he was holding off, and now two were close enough to launch physical attacks. Jak wanted to help him.

But he couldn't waste the opportunity that he'd been given, knowing that he'd be far more effective if he found the right eco. Two shots took out two more barrels, the first one filled with blue, the second one with green. Daxter immediately jumped off the barrel he'd been trying to open and headed straight for the remains of the barrel of blue eco, but Jak didn't have any time to wonder what he was up to. A yell of pain from Sig had already grabbed his attention.

_Sig!_ He started to lift his gun to aim it at the monster that had its jaws clamped around the Wastelander's leg, but neither one was holding still and if he missed... He abruptly changed tactics and lunged forward, bringing the butt of his gun crashing into the back of the thing's head. Its jaws went slack as it was either stunned or killed and it fell to the ground. Jak gestured urgently at the green eco that had spilled on the ground.

Sig shook his head. "No time," he gritted out past the pain in his leg. "Not unless you can hold them all off on your own."

_I can hold them off long enough for that!_ He swung his gun, knocking back another Metal Head, then firmly planted himself in front of the other warrior. _Just do it, Sig!_ The tip of his gun blazed as he fired again and again. He didn't bother to count how many Metal Heads were already dead. For every one that fell, it seemed like two more took its place.

Fortunately, Sig didn't continue to argue. Either trusting Jak or knowing better than to waste time and breath, he fired off one more blast from his Peacemaker, then limped to the nearest pool of green eco. Without being able to channel it, it wouldn't be as easy for him to treat his injury as it would be for Jak, but just sticking his leg in would do it a world of good.

Blue light suddenly flared in the alcove behind him, startling Jak enough that he nearly let a Metal Head get past his guard. With his attention entirely devoted to avoiding those razor sharp teeth, though, he couldn't look back to see what it was.

Daxter's shout saved him from having to try. "Jak! Sig! I got the ring open with blue eco! Let's get out of here!"

Jak's heart leapt in his chest even as he blasted a hole right through the eye of another Metal Head. Two more hurled themselves at him, but with hope singing through his head, his reflexes seemed faster than ever. One Metal Head was shot while it was still in the air and the other was thrown back as he slammed it with his gun. Without a moment to lose, he turned and raced toward the waiting portal.

A buzz of wings in the air was the only warning Jak got before something strong and sharp latched onto his arm from behind. Before he could fully register what was happening, he was jerked into the air, then another Metal Head flew forward and ripped the gun from his hand.

"Jak!"

Pain lanced through his arm, momentarily stealing his breath, but as hard as he twisted and thrashed, he couldn't break the Metal Head's grip. Up and up they went, until something bright flashed through the air, clipping one of the creature's wings. With a stomach-wrenching lurch, they plummeted, the Metal Head beating its one wing madly.

But before they could hit the ground, another sharp set of talons buried into his shoulder, his arm, his side, slicing right through the leather vest like it was paper, and a giant hand lifted him back up. Struggling against the pain that blurred his vision, Jak tried to pry the talons away with his free hand. He cried out when the Metal Head leader only tightened its grip.

"I finally have you within my grasp," the Metal Head gloated. "I'm not about to let you get away that easily." The monster flicked the smaller Metal Head away, then adjusted its grip so that both of Jak's arms were pinned to his sides. Its claws were covered in Jak's blood from where they'd already pierced his body.

"Don't worry, Jak, I'll save you!"

_No._ Jak's breath caught again as he registered Daxter's voice and he fought even harder to break free. _No, Daxter, stay back! Just go through the ring!_

"Daxter, no!" Sig's sharp, commanding voice cut through the din of fighting.

But the only noise that Jak heard was a high squeal that cut off abruptly. _Daxter!_ Jak snapped his head around, straining against the hand that held him as he tried to search for his friend, but one small ottsel was too hard to spot in the sea of Metal Head bodies. _Daxter!_ Wait, there was Sig, plowing through the Metal Heads with fierce determination. He was-

The world spun as the Metal Head leader turned around. "Come, boy. Your ancestor's tomb awaits." With a speed that belied its size, it strode down the hill and away from the fight.

Jak never saw what happened to either Daxter or Sig.

-o-

_Damn it all to_ hell! Sig snarled as he jabbed his elbow into the face of a Metal Head that had tried to sneak up from behind. Flipping his gun horizontal, he reversed the motion and threw all his weight into a forward thrust, shoving back two Metal Heads in front of him. All the while he kept his finger on the gun's charging mechanism, waiting for the next opportunity to fry these miserable bastards.

Just such an opportunity came, and he used it to clear his path the rest of the way to where Daxter's broken, bloody body lay next to Jak's gun. Not wasting any time, he scooped up both the creature and the strap of Jak's gun and immediately began his retreat. He spared only one glance in the direction of Jak and the Metal Head leader, but he knew there was nothing he could do for the kid. _Damn it, damn it, _damn it!

With one hand occupied with carrying Daxter, he couldn't fire any more shots. However, there were also fewer Metal Heads behind him, and those were generally smaller ones that had slipped past while he'd been busy with more immediate threats. Swinging his gun like a club, he batted them aside with enough force to send them flying. No, those weren't the ones he had to worry about. The ones he had to worry about were the big ones that were almost literally breathing down his neck. A large, almost feline Metal Head with powerfully corded muscles lunged after him with claws extended. Sig threw himself to the side only barely in time to escape dying, but those claws still raked across his armor, tearing through the parts that were made of leather. He could feel the lines of fire where the claws made contact with his skin, but there was no time to acknowledge the pain. With a curse, he shoved the Metal Head back as hard as he could, then all but dove for the glowing transport ring. Light flooded his vision...

...and then he was tumbling out the other end. Barely pausing to regain his balance, he set Daxter down and wheeled around, already charging his Peacemaker. When the first Metal Head tried to follow them through, he let the blast fly, taking both it and the transport ring out in one violent explosion.

The silence that filled the air afterward was almost deafening. Slowly, Sig lowered his gun, then set it aside completely and shrugged the strap of Jak's gun off of his arm. Kneeling next to Daxter, he carefully turned him over so that he could examine the ottsel's injuries.

It was bad. He was no animal doctor, but even he could tell that. The Metal Head that had caught Daxter as he'd tried to reach Jak's gun had chomped down on him and shaken him like a rag doll before tossing him aside in favor of going after Sig. The bite marks seemed especially large on the ottsel's small body and the gaping holes and torn flesh continued to spill blood out at an alarming rate.

He had to stop the flow of blood. Daxter didn't have that much to begin with. Stripping off the cloth that circled his waist and acted as a belt, he quickly unhooked his pouch and water skin, then started tearing off strips to bind up Daxter's wounds. It was only a stopgap measure, he knew, but without any kind of medical supplies, it was the best that Sig could do. When he was finished, he stuffed the shredded remains of the belt into his pouch, then tied both it and the water skin onto loops in his armor before retrieving both the guns.

"Hold on, chili pepper," he murmured as he knelt back down. "Just hold on. I'll get you to someone who can patch you up." Lifting the ottsel as gently as he could, he glanced only once at the broken remains of the transport ring before setting off at a brisk pace. Now was not the time for regrets.

Now was the time to get to the city, get Daxter treated, and make a call back to Spargus. Something big was going down and Damas needed to know about it.

-o-

If Sig had had a choice, he would have preferred to take Daxter back to Spargus and to one of the healer monks. As it was, he didn't think the ottsel could survive that long, so it was Krew's bar that Sig headed to instead. The crime lord may not particularly care for or about anyone he hired, but he was not the type to throw away anything he considered useful - unless there was something greater to be gained. For that purpose, there was a medic that Krew's people could go to.

For a price. Krew never did anything for free. Sig grimaced at the thought of owing the fat man anything, but again, he had no choice. There wasn't anyone else in the city he knew he could go to without worrying about being reported to the Krimzon Guard. He wasn't exactly a wanted man, but he _was_ associated with Krew. The last thing he needed right now was some overbearing guard breathing down his neck while trying to dig for information on the crime lord's latest operation.

This early in the day, Krew's bar was all but deserted. A vaguely familiar man with red hair stood at the counter, talking to Tess, but his voice was low enough that Sig could only hear a few words about a shadow and something missing. The Wastelander shook his head and dismissed it as unimportant.

"Tess," he said, cutting into the conversation. "I need you to contact Krew's medic. And get me a first aid kit."

Tess looked up at him, surprised, but apparently one look was enough that she didn't argue his demands. "What happened?" she asked as she bent down to retrieve the first aid kit from under the counter. The man she'd been talking to frowned and stepped back, eyeing Sig and his burden warily. Sig ignored him and stepped forward to set Daxter on the counter.

"Got in a fight with some Metal Heads," he said shortly. That was all Tess needed to know and would more than explain the injuries.

"What, you stole their lunch?" the man asked dryly, gesturing at the bloody ottsel. His voice was rough and raspy, as though his vocal cords had been damaged. Given the tattoos on his face that indicated at least some past involvement in the Krimzon Guard, that wouldn't be too surprising. Injury was an all too common hazard of that job.

"Close enough," Sig grunted, not particularly inclined to answer the man's questions. As soon as Tess handed him the first aid kit, he opened it up and set to work, peeling away Daxter's bandages while she made the call to the medic.

The first thing to take care of was cleaning the ottsel's injuries. With a wad of gauze, he soaked up as much of the blood as he could, then started liberally dousing the wounds with alcohol. Daxter was lucky that he was unconscious, because Sig knew from experience how much this would hurt like a bitch. He'd certainly be making more noise than that very soft whimper.

"Aw, poor little guy," Tess cooed when she came back. "Did some nasty Metal Head try to eat you?" She reached out and gently smoothed the hair on the ottsel's head, clearly not expecting him to answer. "Don't worry. The medic will be here any minute."

"Startin' to get a little too crowded for my tastes," the man commented. "See you around, Tess, and keep your eyes peeled."

"I will," the blond promised cheerfully. "Take care of yourself, Torn." Torn just nodded before walking out of the bar.

Torn. So _that_ was why the man seemed familiar to Sig. The former Krimzon Guard was part of the growing rebellion against Baron Praxis and sometimes worked out deals with Krew. Sig hadn't ever had reason to work with him directly, but he'd heard about him and seen him maybe once or twice. He glanced at Tess, filing away that brief conversation and his suspicions about it for later.

"Where's Krew?" he asked when he finished tying off the last of Daxter's bandages. The work would be undone soon enough, once the medic arrived, but he still felt better knowing that the injuries had been sterilized and the strips of cloth binding them weren't from his less-than-sanitary belt.

"Oh, he's gone up to the stadium. He heard about this new mechanic that showed up - supposed to be really good. He wanted to see if she was worth hiring." Still absentmindedly petting Daxter's head, the barmaid shrugged and smiled wryly. "You know how he is about racing."

Indeed. And wasn't it just convenient that Krew happened to be out when Torn came by to talk to Tess.

But now wasn't the time to speculate about where Tess' true loyalties might lie. In fact, it worked out to his advantage that Krew wasn't there.

He met her eyes squarely. "Listen, Tess, I need to make a call, and after that, I'm gonna have some business to take care of. You remember that kid who was with me a few days ago?" When Tess nodded, he went on. "This is his friend, Daxter. Could you do me a favor and keep an eye on him?"

Tess tilted her head as she considered the request. She turned her head, looking at the wall behind her - or more specifically at the drawing that Jak had given her - then at the unconscious ottsel on the counter. The likeness wasn't good at all, but Tess' face softened anyway. She met Sig's eyes and nodded, smiling.

"Sure," she said. "I can make a little bed for him in a box and put him under the counter. Even if Krew spots him, I'll tell him he's my pet." Her eyes glinted with mischief and amusement. "If he complains, I'll just remind him about the _last_ health inspection. He still owes me for that."

Although Sig didn't know the details about what had happened in that inspection, his mouth still quirked upward. He could only imagine. "Thanks, Tess. That makes two I owe you now."

Tess waved his words aside. "Nah. This one's for Jak. Bring him around again sometime, will you? He was a nice kid."

Sig's expression immediately sobered, but again he didn't say anything about the events in the pass. "I'll try," he promised, the words meaning more than he could convey. Jak may not have been a Wastelander, but after what had happened in the pass, he was a comrade in arms as far as Sig was concerned. The boy hadn't hesitated to come to his aid or to place himself directly between the Metal Heads and Sig to give him a chance to heal his injuries. And he'd paid for it. If Sig could find where Jak was, and if the kid was still alive when he got there, he'd do everything he could to bring him back.

_Your ancestor's tomb awaits._ It was the only clue the Metal Head had given for where it was going, but it was enough for Sig. For whatever reason, the thing thought Jak was related to Mar, which meant there was only one tomb that it could be referring to.

_Mar's_ tomb. A tomb that was supposed to be lost to the world.

A tomb that he knew that Damas had visited. Damas would know where it was, and possibly what the Metal Head wanted. Whatever that goal was, it apparently posed a threat to the whole world. So even though it was dangerous to try to transmit anything between Haven and Spargus, Sig felt more than justified in breaking radio silence.

**-End Chapter Seventeen-**


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

**-Chapter Eighteen-**

The call came when Damas was inspecting the city gate. A storm had kicked up during the night, one of the worst that he had ever seen, lifting boulders and uprooting trees and tossing them around as easily as if they were sand. One of those boulders had struck the gate, and when they had opened it the next day, its movement was jerky and threatened to stick.

And then there was the matter of the boulder itself. With it sitting there right at the entrance, there was no way to get any vehicles in or out. Both problems, his people assured him, could be dealt with by the end of the day, but when it came to his city's defenses, he wanted to look into it personally.

But a call from Haven, from Sig who would only do so in the most dire of circumstances, was effective in shooting that plan to pieces. Not knowing what to expect, except that it couldn't be good, the king quickly excused himself and followed the messenger back to the communications room. Once there, he dismissed the only other man that was present before sitting down at the console and activating the call command.

"I'm here," he said briskly. "What happened?"

Sig's voice crackled with static when he replied, but the words were thankfully clear. "Shit happened," the man said bluntly. "I think Praxis is supplying the Metal Heads with eco. Don't ask me why. That's just who picked the stuff up after it was delivered, and I _don't_ think it was a coincidence."

"_What?_" He couldn't have heard right. Praxis was ruthless and aggressive, and his plans were often radical, but surely the man wasn't stupid! What possible victory could he hope to gain by _strengthening_ the enemy?

"That's not the worst of it," Sig went on. "Jak got captured and Daxter's down for the count, and the Metal Head leader made it sound like it's got somethin' nasty planned. Somethin' it needs an 'heir of Mar' to accomplish. Damas..." There was a moment's hesitation before the man plowed on. "What exactly is in Mar's tomb?"

The question caught Damas by surprise, and he tensed, not at all liking what it implied. Mar's Tomb was not something he had ever discussed, and for very good reason. He probably shouldn't have even told Sig that he had been to the place, no matter his trust in the man. Up until today, Sig had respected his reticence, never pressing for details. To have it come up now... "Why?" he demanded.

There was another moment of silence. It might have been lag in the communication, but to Damas it felt more like Sig was carefully weighing his words. "You remember how I thought that Jak might be related to you?" he asked. "Metal Head leader thinks so, too. Called him 'heir of Mar' flat out, then said they were goin' to his ancestor's tomb. Seems to think Jak can do somethin' there that'd help 'em take over the world."

Cold dread froze the blood in his veins. It couldn't be. No one should even know that that thing existed. But why else would the Metal Heads be interested in Mar's final resting place? How had they even _found_ it? Walled up and buried in the heart of the city, the secret of its location should have been _lost_ when Damas left. And Jak...

He still didn't think it was likely, but if the boy _was_ somehow related to him, it would give the Metal Heads access to the secrets within the tomb. Including...

The decision was made before he opened his mouth to speak. "Where are you right now?"

"Back room of Krew's bar," Sig answered promptly. "Why-"

"Be at the landing platform when the next transport arrives," Damas cut him off. Cutting off the transmission, he stood up and swiftly strode from the room. With the threat of what the Metal Heads might be doing, there wasn't a moment to lose.

-o-

Sig frowned as the line suddenly went silent. The last part of that conversation had unsettled him more than he cared to admit. Damas knew something, and whatever it was, it was spurring him to act as though there was no time to explain. That only confirmed that whatever the Metal Heads were up to, it posed a very real and very immediate threat.

And now Sig had to sit there and _wait_. Oh, he spent the time productively enough, loading up the ammo in both his and Jak's guns and getting his own minor injuries tended to after the medic was done with Daxter, but that didn't change the fact that he felt like he was just sitting around while the Metal Heads hatched their plans. Eventually, he left the bar and headed out to the landing pad, glancing up at the overcast sky even though he knew that the transport couldn't arrive this early. No matter how urgent this situation was, the thing could only fly so fast.

Still, only strict discipline kept him from pacing as he waited for whoever Damas had decided to send. It felt like forever before he finally spotted something flying in that was too large to be a zoomer. With no small amount of relief and impatience, he straightened up, ready to grill his backup as soon as the man or woman set foot on the dock. The transport settled down and the back door opened.

And every one of Sig's questions died on his lips. With a sharp intake of breath, he nearly choked on the exclamation that almost came out instead. "D- Sir! What the _hell?_" Because even with a cloak and a brown scarf that wrapped around his head and the lower half of his face, Sig would know the Wasteland king anywhere.

Damas glanced at him, then shook his head. "Not here." With staff in hand, he stepped off the ramp, moving as briskly as he could without drawing attention and never once hesitating in his direction. This had been _his_ city once. Even if he no longer ruled it, a part of him would never forget. Sig fell into step beside him.

Nothing more was said as the two made their way across the water and started circling the port, turning only when they reached the midway point and the road that would take them toward the heart of the city. A knot of tension formed in Sig's stomach which he did his best to ignore. What was Damas doing here? He'd been banished from the city and publicly declared dead. If anyone realized who he was...

No. That wasn't what was truly bothering him. If Praxis or the Krimzon Guard learned that Damas wasn't dead, that was something they could deal with. They could fight back to back and escape, or go out in a blaze of glory. The danger was real, but it was something he knew how to handle. The _real_ issue was the fact that Damas had left his city and come to Haven himself. If the king had to deal with this both immediately and personally, it said too much about how dire this threat really was.

And he still didn't know what it _was_. That was the part he liked least of all. It took every bit of his self restraint not to ask the man again what was in Mar's tomb. Damas would tell him when he needed to know and not a moment before.

That moment came sooner than Sig expected. The path they had taken took them past a huge statue of Baron Praxis, but instead of leaving it behind, Damas stopped on the other side and stepped off the path. He reached out a hand to touch the blank wall at the base, and though Sig couldn't see his face, he could hear the frown in his voice.

"Something is wrong," Damas said, keeping his voice low. "Someone has tampered with this wall."

Sig furrowed his brow, not understanding the significance of the wall. "Maybe someone crashed into it and it had to be repaired." His eyes roamed the street as he spoke, making sure that no one was paying too much attention. There weren't any Krimzon Guards in his immediate view, but that didn't mean they couldn't be called if someone thought they were acting suspiciously.

Damas' eyes narrowed. "No," he said grimly. "It's more than that." With his fingers, he drew Sig's attention to a thin line that cut neatly through the stone. From a distance, no one would be likely to notice it, but this close, Sig could easily trace it up, around, and back down in the shape of a large rectangle. "Someone who did not know how to open the door cut a hole through this stone."

Suddenly, pieces began falling into place more rapidly than Sig could keep up with. A door, a destination, a threat, the need for Damas' presence - added up, it could only mean one thing.

"Yes." Damas nodded as he withdrew his hand. "This is the door to Mar's tomb." His eyes darkened. "And someone has beat us to it."

-o-

Someone was touching his face.

_warm sun on his skin and sand, so much sand, sand everywhere_

Jak's eyes fluttered, but he didn't want to open them. Opening them meant waking up, and waking up meant... something. Something unpleasant.

_a shadow fell across him, shielding him from the sun, and he could see blue eyes and a smile, blue eyes that could almost be purple_

The hand moved, ignoring his reluctance, and started patting his chest. Thankfully, it avoided the places where Jak hurt the most, but it still managed to provoke a wince.

_Someday..._

He cracked his eyes open just a slit, the world swimming with a dizzying blur of dreams and fuzzy shapes.

_Someday, you will be a great warrior..._

_Sun and sand_ and torches and stone, and there was someone sitting next to him who was too small _who towered over him_.

_Just like..._

Small fingers touched his cheek again, and as he blinked the last bits of dream away, he found that the hand belonged to a boy who couldn't be more than a few years old, dressed in blue overalls and a leather cap. The boy stared at him with concern, then raised his green eyebrows in silent, exaggerated question.

_Are you all right?_

No. No, he wasn't all right. Jak hissed with pain as he tried to sit up, putting one hand behind him to help support his weight. His other arm hung useless at his side; it hurt too much to even think about using it. The other injuries he'd received from the Metal Head's claws hurt just as badly, and they protested even the effort it took for Jak to sit up.

But he had to see where he was. He needed to understand his current situation. The Metal Head had done something to him, trapping him in some kind of translucent sphere, and then... He couldn't remember anything after that. He looked around. Where _was_ the Metal Head leader?

It was just him and the boy, though, in a room with a high, vaulted ceiling and stone walkways that arched over a seemingly endless pit. A huge statue dominated one side of the room, the side that they were on. There was a door on the other side, pieces of it lying cracked and shattered on the platform in front of it, but the bridge that connected to the platform was broken. The only other distinguishing feature in the room was the large Precursor ring which hovered in the air on level with the statue's chest. It looked just like the ring that had taken Jak to this strange part of the world, except that there was no light shining inside its spinning pieces. It looked... _dead_, for lack of a better word.

The boy patted his arm, drawing Jak's attention back to him. Oh, yeah. He'd asked a question. He shook his head, but forced a smile for the kid's sake. _Don't worry. I've been through worse._

Not looking very reassured, the boy pointed at his arm and his bloody shirt and vest. His blue eyes were wide and his lip trembled. He was so young. Jak wondered if he'd ever seen someone bleed before. Sitting up so that he didn't need the support of his arm, he wrapped it around the boy's shoulders and pulled him into a hug. _I'll be fine. I promise._

His silent comfort earned him a wordless sniff, and the boy responded to the hug by burying his face in the cleanest part of Jak's chest. His body shook with sobs, though he still didn't make a sound.

_He's terrified,_ Jak realized. The Metal Head must have brought him here just as it had brought Jak. How long had he been here? Had he been alone this whole time? And...

When his own injuries throbbed, he frowned and pulled back, looking the child over more closely. He couldn't see anything obvious besides a few minor scrapes and bruises, but still he raised his eyebrows and mimicked the earlier question.

_Are _you_ all right?_

The boy scrubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, then nodded. Laying his ears back against his head, he bared his teeth and curled his fingers into claws before grabbing his thumb with one hand and "carrying" it to the ground they sat on. Then he held up his thumb to show that it was okay, that the monster hadn't clawed or bitten him when he had been captured.

For a moment, Jak felt a strange sense of deja vu. Before he could think too much about what caused it, though, it dawned on him that this boy was speaking like _him_. Without a sound or a word, he used his body and his actions to illustrate what he wanted to say. Other people knew how to communicate with gestures, of course, but for them, it never seemed natural. That wasn't the way they were used to speaking. This boy, on the other hand, didn't even seem to consider opening his mouth, just let the words tumble from his hands as easily as they did from other people's lips. This, Jak realized, was what everyone else saw when _he_ tried to talk. Seeing it from the other side was a very novel experience.

When the boy was finished, Jak briefly mirrored the claws and the silent growl, then raised his eyebrows again. _Do you know where the Metal Head is?_

The boy blinked at him, then pointed at the door. _It went that way._

Hmm. If it left them here, then it thought they couldn't escape. That meant that, potentially, it could take however long it wanted to return. They might have hours to themselves - or they might only have another few minutes. Best they take advantage of whatever time they had.

First things first. He needed to deal with his injuries. He wouldn't be of any use to anyone if he passed out or bled to death. Moving his right arm as little as possible, he gingerly pulled off the vest and shirt, wincing with pain with every move he made. Angry, bloody wounds stared back at him from the soft muscle just below his shoulder, his ribs, his arm, and his side, showing clearly where the Metal Head's claws had dug into him when it had grabbed him from his fall. There was a fifth wound on his back from the claw on the monster's thumb, right around his shoulder blade, but this one he couldn't get a look at. It didn't feel as serious as the other four, though, which was a lucky thing. It would be difficult to bandage that injury. His arm was in the worst condition, as it hadn't had any protection from the leather vest.

After taking stock of everything, he set to work awkwardly tearing strips of cloth from his shirt with one hand and his feet, sometimes gnawing at it with his teeth to help weaken the part he wanted to rip. The boy sat next to him while he did all this, his hands fidgeting with some kind of amulet that hung from his neck as he stared with wide, worried eyes.

When it came to actually wrapping the bandages around each injury, though, Jak found himself at a bit of a loss. He was able to tie the knots for the bandages on his arm and his shoulder by using his hand and his teeth, but his other two injuries were too far down to use that method. Trying to trap one end of the bandage between his arm and his chest didn't work, either, and only made him hiss from the awkward pressure it placed on his injuries. _I can't do this,_ he thought, closing his eyes against the pain and dizziness. _I'm going to have to leave it like it is._ That wasn't good. He'd already lost too much blood.

But then another possibility presented itself when his companion hesitantly touched his arm. Jak opened his eyes and looked at the boy, who was now standing and hovering over him anxiously. He looked like he wanted to help, but didn't know what to do. Jak gave him a faint smile. _Here._ Taking hold of the boy's hand, he guided it to his chest and pressed it against one end of the bandage. _Just hold this here while I tie it._ He raised his eyebrows. _Can you do that?_

The boy bit his lip and nodded, seeming to understand, and he gripped the strip of cloth tight between his fingers.

Even with his help, it was still awkward, and the knot was far from perfect, but Jak felt confident that it would at least hold. Together they repeated the process for the claw mark on his side. When they were finished, Jak had to fight the urge lay back down, settling instead for just leaning forward while he caught his breath. If he laid down now, he didn't know if he could force himself to get back up.

He couldn't afford to sit there for long, though, not when he didn't know when the Metal Head would be back. With a grimace, he carefully stood up, then waited while another wave of dizziness passed. Once it had, he reached out to take the little boy's hand.

_Come on. Let's see if we can find a way out._

**-End Chapter Eighteen-**


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

**-Chapter Nineteen-**

The pathway they were on arched in a semicircle around the statue on the wall, connected to the platform in front of it by the same bridge that broke off short of the door on the other side. Without any other obvious exit, Jak headed for that platform, intent on investigating the Precursor ring. If he could find a way to activate it, they might be able to escape. Beside him, the boy held tight to his hand, seemingly content to follow him wherever he wanted to go.

However, once they actually got to the ring, the boy let go and started gesturing excitedly.

And Jak got his first taste of just how frustrating his form of "speech" could be.

The ring. The statue. No, the hole in the statue's chest! He'd touched it, and _whoosh!_

_Wait, what?_ Baffled, Jak shook his head and repeated the kid's gesture as best he could with one hand. Something had - flown? - into the ring?

Oh yes. The kid nodded enthusiastically. _Whoosh!_ He climbed up the steps that led up to the hole in the statue's chest, then patted the air without actually touching the depression.

No, he wasn't talking about the hole or the statue. There had been something _in_ the statue's chest, something that was no longer there.

_The Metal Head took it._ That was the only thing the boy could mean when he bared his teeth and clawed at the statue's empty chest as though prying something out.

Jak frowned, wishing he could ask for more details, but when neither he nor the child could really speak, it would take too long to communicate and make certain the other _understood_. When they were safe, he could ask about it again. Instead, he focused on the ring itself. Running his hand along the cool metal surface, he thought he could detect a faint thrum of power. So, it wasn't completely dead. But was there enough power to activate it? Somehow, Jak doubted it. It had taken a hundred power cells to get the other ring running. Still...

He concentrated, reaching for that innate talent of his to draw out eco. It was that power, he suspected, that Precursor artifacts responded to when he held them in his hands. He wasn't sure, as he'd never deliberately _tried_ to activate an artifact like this. They'd always turned on at just a simple touch. But maybe their power hadn't been dormant. Maybe with this ring, the energy needed to be "woken up." He hoped... and reached...

And nothing.

With a sigh of defeat, he dropped his hand and let his forehead rest against the ring. _Well, it was worth a try._ When the boy's hand slipped into his again, he looked down and nodded. _Yeah. Let's keep looking._

The next best place to investigate was the broken bridge itself. Jak went as close to the edge as he dared, carefully testing his weight each time he took a step, then stood there trying to gauge the distance. Could he jump that far? He bit his lip uncertainly. He thought that maybe, _maybe_ he could jump far enough to grab onto the opposite ledge, but injured and with only one arm, he didn't think that he could pull himself up. On top of that, he couldn't leave the boy behind. With the boy on his back, there'd be no way he could make it across.

_Darn it..._

Something clacked in the distance. Jak's ears pricked up as they caught the sound and he looked around before exchanging a glance with the boy. The boy just blinked back at him. He didn't know what it was, either. The sound came again, and again, a rhythmic pattern that was drawing closer. Jak tensed, wondering if the Metal Head was coming back.

But instead of a giant monster, two hoary old heads popped into view, their owners coming up the steps on the other side of the door. "There you are!" one of them exclaimed as he caught sight of Jak and the boy. "Great Precursors, boy, I was beginning to think that Metal Head had eaten you!"

Of all the people... _Samos!_ Jak's face lit up with joy and recognition, and at first he almost didn't notice the drastic differences. When he did, though, he faltered, blinking in confusion. _Samos?_ He let go of the boy's hand and pointed hesitantly at the Green Sage's head. _What happened to your log?_ That wasn't the only thing wrong, but it was the first that jumped out at him. Then it was the beard that wasn't there, the bird's egg instead of a bird, and the skin that wasn't quite as wrinkly. He was still _Samos_. There was no one in the world who looked like him, Jak was certain of that.

But what had _happened?_

Samos either didn't notice or just plain ignored the question, although he did at least look at Jak. His eyebrows lifted in surprise. "On the other hand, it looks like it tried to take a bite out of your friend. Young man, are you all right?"

_Young man?_ Jak stared at him, then slowly shook his head. Something was off here. It was almost like Samos didn't recognize him. But that couldn't be right. He'd known the sage almost his whole life and they'd only been separated for a few days. It didn't make sense for Samos not to remember him.

"He looks a bit disoriented," the man with Samos commented. He had white hair and a beard that was even longer than Samos' had been and he was dressed in blue robes. Tucked underneath one arm, he held a large green stone that glowed with an inner light. "Probably from loss of blood, if I had to guess."

"Perhaps you should sit down," Samos suggested. "_Away_ from the ledge."

Feeling more and more distressed, Jak stepped back, taking the kid's hand again and pulling him with him. The boy stared back and forth between Jak and the men on the other side of the broken bridge, but he didn't offer up any resistance.

Surprisingly, though, the robed man _did_. "I don't think that would be wise," he cautioned. "The Metal Head that brought us all here could still be lurking about. There's no time to rest. We need to escape before it comes back."

Samos frowned, but couldn't argue the sense of the other man's words. "Yes, I suppose you're right. Unfortunately..." He eyed the remains of the bridge. "I don't see a way for the boys to get across. Do you have any suggestions, Kor?"

Kor appeared to consider the problem for a moment, and his eyes swept the chamber as he took everything in. Then a slow smile crossed his face. "I don't believe that will be necessary," he said. Striding closer to the edge of the bridge, he gestured toward the Precursor ring with the staff in his hand. "If the boys can activate that transport ring, I'm sure it will take them someplace well beyond the Metal Head's reach."

"It's not active and there's no eco anywhere near here," Samos pointed out.

"Ah, but we do have _this_." Kor held up the green stone he'd been carrying, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "This Precursor stone is filled with power just waiting to be released - more than enough to activate a transport ring. If the boys can figure out how to tap its energy..."

An excited tugging on his hand pulled Jak's attention down to the boy he was holding. The boy looked up at Jak and pointed at the stone, then back at the ring - no, wait, the _statue._ Jak looked back at the statue, at the hole in the statue's chest...

_Whoosh!_ The boy's hand zipped through the air.

It looked like just about the right size and shape. Jak's eyebrows lifted and he made the growl-and-claw motion that he and the boy both agreed meant "Metal Head." _Is that what the Metal Head took?_

The boy nodded vehemently and pointed at the green stone in Kor's hand. With his ears laid back, he clawed the air, pretending to snatch something away. Oh yes, that was definitely what the Metal Head had taken, and he'd seen it with his own eyes!

Jak closed his hand, then opened it, as though letting something go. _Maybe it dropped it._

Something flickered in Samos' eyes as he watched the two boys communicate. The frown on his face etched deeper, sharpening with suspicion. "Young man, what did you say your name was?"

The teen flinched. He _hadn't_ said his name - because Jak couldn't speak and because Samos should have _known_. With all the confirmation that he needed now that Samos didn't remember him, he lifted his hand to touch his throat. _I can't._

Somehow, though, Samos didn't appear surprised. He looked at the boy again, then at Jak, seeming to compare the two. He pursed his lips. "Hmm. Are you...?" He didn't get to finish that sentence, though, because didn't Kor give him the chance.

"We can save the introductions for later," the old man said impatiently. "Boy, if I throw this to you, do you think you can catch it?"

Putting aside the issue of Samos' memory in favor of dealing with the more immediate problem, Jak eyed the stone, mentally judging its weight by how the other man lifted it. After a moment, he nodded. _Yeah. I can handle that._ Two hands would have been best, but he was pretty certain that he could make do with one. When Kor gently lobbed the thing across the pit, he was ready, grabbing hold of it just as it hit his chest.

A feeling like electricity shot through him the moment his skin touched the stone, startling him into nearly dropping it. _Whoa! He wasn't kidding when he said it was full of power!_ There was so much energy swirling beneath the surface of the stone, it was amazing that it didn't leap free on its own. It might even, he thought with no small amount of hope, be enough to match a hundred power cells.

_Only one way to find out._

Turning his back on the two old men, he headed straight to the other side of the chamber with the stone in hand. The boy trotted along beside him, apparently eager to see what was going to happen. Jak didn't see Samos' look of speculation, or the way Kor's smile widened as he watched them approach the ring.

_All right. Let's try this again._ He leaned against the ring so that both he and the stone were touching it at the same time, then closed his eyes, feeling out the energy. There was some sort of barrier that locked it inside the stone, something smooth and hard as glass. _How do I get it out?_

"Hurry, boy!" Kor called to him. "We haven't got much time!"

Jak's ear flicked with annoyance. He was doing this as fast as he could. Opening his eyes again, he stared into the depths of the stone. There had to be something, some method to releasing the energy. He could _feel_ it humming beneath his hand. Why wasn't he able to touch it?

Almost without thinking, his eyes slid to the boy beside him. _Whoosh._ He'd touched the stone and _whoosh._ What exactly did that mean? Curious now, and with nothing else to go on, he knelt down and held the stone out. _Can you show me what you did?_

The kid hesitated. Some emotion - fear? uncertainty? nervousness? - drew his eyebrows together as he stared at the stone, then at Jak, and his hands unconsciously reached up to clutch at his amulet. Eventually, though, he took a deep, steadying breath before placing his hand on the stone. Jak watched intently, focusing every sense he had on what the boy was doing.

He felt it first, before he saw it, the way the energy seemed to collect near the boy's hand as though drawn by a magnet. It was like... like watching himself absorb eco, only in very slow motion. First one spark rose from the stone, then another, then like a dam had burst, a whole torrent of energy came rushing through, engulfing the child completely. The boy cried out, the first sound he'd made, and snatched his hand away. With something that was almost a whimper, he stuck his fingers in his mouth, staring at Jak with large, watery eyes. His other hand trembled as he waved it through the air.

_Whoosh!_

That was the answer. Jak's eyes were wide as he realized what had just happened. The stone was filled with pure eco, and this boy had _channeled_ it. Or tried to, that is. He was too young to be handling anything on the order that Jak had just seen. Jak set the stone down and pulled the boy's hand from his mouth. He couldn't remember the first time he'd channeled eco, but he could remember the sting when he'd tried to absorb too much. He remembered, too, the words Damas had spoken to him in the chamber below Spargus.

He rubbed the boy's fingers. _Just let it fade._ He waited until the boy's eyes stopped watering, then smiled and patted him on the head before picking the stone back up. _Thanks,_ he tried to convey. _I think I know what I need to do._

What he needed to do, he realized, was treat the stone like it was eco and stop trying to let the energy out. It didn't need to go out - it needed to go _through_. He had to become the conduit between it and the ring. Standing up again so that he could lean against the ring, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Then, like he would with any other loose bit of eco, he reached out and tried to pull it in.

Pure, raw energy tore through his body, shocking him with its intensity. It was like Spargus all over again, red and blue, yellow and green, and white, so much white, all mixed into one, flooding him and spilling out when there was no more room. He would have staggered if he hadn't been leaning against the ring, it was that overwhelming. As it was, it was all he could do to keep standing, gasping as the eco roared through his veins before pouring into the waiting ring.

Then just as he thought he was going to pass out, the Precursor machine began to hum with life, the energy it had absorbed glowing brightly at its center. Jak hastily cut off the flow of eco, panting as though he'd run a marathon. _I did it._ Relief washed over, and he almost felt the urge to laugh. We _did it. We can get out of here now._ They could go back home and Jak could tell Damas about everything that had happened. Damas would want to know about the Metal Heads, and maybe he could help the little boy find his parents. And if he needed any help translating what the boy wanted to say, he'd have Jak and Daxter, the world's two best experts in silent communication. Daxter always knew what-

Reality hit him hard. He didn't even know if Daxter was alive, or Sig for that matter. The last he'd seen of them, they were being overrun by Metal Heads in the pass, and Daxter... He hadn't seen what happened, but he knew that Daxter had been hurt. He swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat. _He's all right,_ he told himself. _Sig's with him and they got the ring open. They'll be waiting when we get back to Spargus._ He knew that might not be the case, but right now...

Right now, he had more than enough on his plate without adding things he couldn't do anything about.

"Good job, boys!" Samos praised them. "Now, be careful when you go through that ring. You don't know where it will take you. When you're on the other side, see if you can find a way to disable it so that the Metal Heads can't follow you. Kor and I will make our way to the entrance of this place and-"

Kor's laughter cut him off. "Fools!" he said. "You've done exactly what I wanted!" His laughter turned deeper, harsher, and just as Jak's head snapped up, _wings_ sprouted from the man's back, shooting out in four directions. Then his whole body distorted, growing larger and losing all semblance of humanity. Within moments, Kor was gone, and in his place stood the Metal Head leader.

"You!" Samos gasped, stumbling backwards. "It was you this whole time!"

"Yes, me," the Metal Head mocked. "You fools are so easy to manipulate! When the young heir of Mar proved useless in channeling the stone's power, I knew I would need the other. And what better way to convince him to use the stone's power than to trap him and then present him with the stone as the only way to escape? Of course, I needed _you_ to help gain their trust, Samos, as you were already familiar to the both of them and I, as Kor, was not."

Samos started in surprise. "Both?"

"But you never questioned why the Metal Head just happened to let you escape, now did you?" the Metal Head sneered, ignoring the question. "And now I need you no more!" With a powerful swing of his arm, he struck the man and sent him hurtling through the air. "Good riddance!"

Before Jak could even register what happened, Samos was gone. Whether by luck or the Metal Head's own design, his body had gone straight through the Precursor ring, disappearing in a flash of light. Appearing unconcerned, the Metal Head leaped across the pit to the walkway that circled the statue, then started lumbering towards them.

"All that is left," it commented, "is to kill the both of you. With the House of Mar gone, nothing, _nothing_ will stand between me and the past!"

There was no time to figure out what it meant by that baffling statement. Even as the boy tried to latch onto his leg, Jak dropped the stone and grabbed onto him, swinging him by the arm up toward the ring. _Go!_ he wanted to shout at the startled child. _Find Samos on the other side! He'll take care of you!_ There was a soft clatter as something fell and hit the ground, then another flash of light.

And then Jak was alone with the Metal Head leader. Alone, injured, and unarmed - but he didn't care. There was one thing he knew he could do, and if he died doing it, then so be it. As the Metal Head approached him, he scooped the Precursor stone up off the ground and once again leaned against the ring.

The Metal Head laughed as it saw what Jak was up to. "Idiot boy," it said as it reached the intersection of the walkway and the bridge. "You cannot overload that Precursor ring! It was built to handle more power than you could ever hope to channel!"

Jak lifted his chin grimly. _That's not what I intend to do._ He reached again for the energy, ignoring how his nerves screamed - but this time it wasn't the stone he was reaching for. This time it was the _ring. If I can channel energy out of the stone, I can channel it back in!_

By the time the Metal Head realized what he was doing, it was already too late. He knew what he was doing now, how to get the energy to respond, and he knew what to expect when it raged through his body. He didn't have to pull it all back in, either - only enough to shut the ring down. Even as the Metal Head screeched in protest, the light in the ring winked out.

"No!"

Dizzy and staggering from the effort of channeling so much energy - and twice in the same day! - Jak didn't stand a chance of dodging when the furious Metal Head hurled itself across the remaining distance and slammed him into the ground. The Precursor stone slipped from his fingers and rolled a few feet before coming to a stop.

"I will not be thwarted again!"

Sharp claws sunk into him, raking across his skin. If Jak hadn't already been half stunned from hitting the ground, he would have cried out in pain. As it was, he could barely gasp as he tried to twist away. The effort proved futile, though, when a second set of claws pinned him down. Before he could blink, the Metal Head's huge, leering face was just inches from his own, its hot, rancid breath pouring down his neck.

"Open the Rift Gate, boy," it growled, "or I will _rip you limb from limb._"

Jak glared in defiance. _Go to hell._ Then, with as much liquid as his mouth could muster, he spit right in the monster's eye.

**-End Chapter Nineteen-**


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

**-Chapter Twenty-**

The door that should only have opened in the presence of an heir of Mar was completely destroyed. Damas grimly picked his way through the rubble, which thankfully did not extend to the walkway just beyond the door. If that had been damaged, it would have made things infinitely more difficult.

"Be ready when we reach the bottom," he cautioned Sig, keeping his voice low. "This chamber is partially flooded with water, and the fish that live within it are aggressive."

Sig nodded, his eyes already casing the dimly lit room. "Which way are we headed?"

Under normal circumstances, Damas would have pointed to one of the platforms on either side of the room, knowing that the door to the Precursor stone would not open until the tomb's trials had been completed. However, these were hardly normal circumstances. His eyes went to the far end of the room, half-expecting to see that door smashed as well. He wasn't disappointed.

"Through the door on the other side," Damas said, pulling the scarf from around his head. In this place there was no need to disguise himself and he didn't want his vision obscured in the least. "That is where-"

A shriek of outrage cut him off. "No! I will not be thwarted again!"

Both Wastelanders stiffened, but it was only confirmation of what they already knew: the Metal Heads had accessed Mar's tomb. But what it also meant was that the Metal Heads were _still here_. It might not be too late to stop them - especially, it sounded, since something or someone else was getting in their way.

Without a moment's hesitation, Damas stepped off the walkway and into the shallow water on the floor. Water splashed softly as their feet swept through it, but that could hardly be avoided. Nor, he knew, was there any way to avoid alerting the fish to their presence. They'd only made it a few feet into the water before the first creature surfaced with a growl. Damas almost didn't hear it over the sudden snarl that echoed from across the chamber.

"Open the Rift Gate, boy..."

The rest was lost to Damas' ears, his attention too focused on the threat at hand. Lifting his staff with both hands, he aimed the butt of it straight for the slimy head. The sharp sound of blaster fire accompanied the sickening crunch as the blow connected, and the thing was dead before its body even sunk below the water. Damas glanced at Sig, earning a wry shrug from the dark-skinned man. The king smiled humorlessly. It was good to know that they both had quick reflexes. They might need them in the coming confrontation.

The relative silence of the chamber was broken again by a screech that tore through the chamber. "Wrong answer!" the Metal Head roared.

And then there was nothing but screams.

Damas' blood ran cold, especially when he realized how _young_ that voice was. Galvanized into action, he threw caution to the wind and raced across the chamber, regardless of the fish that chased after him. Behind him, Sig sprinted to keep up, cursing under his breath. Scream after scream ripped through the air.

Knowing better than to burst in without taking stock of the situation, the two pulled up just short of the door and took advantage of the cover the broken pieces provided. Slowly, cautiously, they raised their heads over the edge. The Metal Head in the room was easily spotted and its back was to them as it crouched over something it had pinned to the floor in front of the statue. That something, Damas realized, was the person who was screaming, his form writhing in torment as the Metal Head dragged eco-laden claws across his chest. _Jak._ Though he wasn't particularly surprised, Damas' jaw clenched when he recognized the teen.

"I can make this stop, boy," the Metal Head promised. As though to demonstrate, the dark eco stopped sparking around its fingers and it lifted its hand just enough so that it was no longer shredding skin. Jak's screams tapered off into breathless gasps, though his face was still tight with pain. Immediately, his hand went up to try to pry away the claws that held him down. For a moment, the Metal Head just watched him with sadistic amusement. "Or," it said almost conversationally as it moved its claws down, down so that they hovered right above the lowest of Jak's blood-soaked bandages. "I can make it _worse!_" With a surge of dark eco, the Metal Head plunged its claws into the boy's side, and once again the air shattered with the sound of Jak's screams.

Biting back a curse, Damas ducked back down and gestured at Sig. With a wordless nod, the other man grimly handed him Jak's gun, then pulled his Peacemaker off his back. This was not a fight where a staff would be useful, especially when their enemy was on the other side of a broken bridge. Damas set his staff aside and held up his hand. _On my signal._

"It's your choice, boy," the Metal Head said. "All you have to do is open the Gate and this will all be over."

Damas waited only long enough for Jak's screams to die down - a sign that the Metal Head no longer had its claws in him - then dropped his hand to the barrel of his gun. _Now!_ He and Sig rose as one, their guns blazing the moment they cleared the door. The monster screeched and reared back under the assault, then whirled around to face them faster than Damas would have thought possible. Bright light gathered around its forehead and blasted straight for them before it had even finished moving. Damas threw himself to the side just in time to avoid the wave of black and purple destruction, while Sig was able to use the broken doors for cover.

Then the Metal Head's eyes fell on him and its wrath was diminished by surprise. "What? You!" Dropping back down to stand on all six legs, it eyed the king, not seeming to care that he was still shooting. "Damas of the House of Mar, _you_ are supposed to be _dead._"

Damas grunted in disgust at his weapon's performance, but it was never meant to go up against a Metal Head of this size. The best he could hope to do with it would be to distract his enemy while Sig charged his Peacemaker or hope that he could land a shot in a particularly sensitive place. Either way, it would keep the monster's attention off of Jak, who was clutching his side in agony as he tried to crawl away. The trail of blood he left behind was more than a little disturbing.

"The rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated," Damas said dryly as he aimed. "Praxis made certain of that."

The Metal Head swatted aside the blaster's next shot, then, surprisingly, it burst out laughing. "Yes, the man _has_ been known to lie. Still, this works out perfectly for me." Bending down suddenly, it wrapped its hand around Jak's stomach before the boy had made it very far, then held him up so that Damas could see him clearly. Jak struggled against its grip, kicking and clawing at the monster's hand as he tried to twist free, but it was to no avail - especially once the monster put its claws to his throat.

"Tell me, Damas," it said, its eyes glinting with malicious intent. "What would you do to save your son?"

_What?_ Damas' hands stilled, and not just because Jak was now being held hostage. The question had caught him off guard, and what it implied... He narrowed his eyes. "My son is not here. Do not think to fool me with your lies, Metal Head."

"Oh, but he _is_," the Metal Head countered slyly. Its claws slid up Jak's neck, then forced him to tilt his chin, sinking in just deep enough to leave bright spots of blood in their wake. When the boy tried to pull away, the Metal Head only pushed its claws deeper, trapping Jak's head against its chest. The boy choked back a sound of pain. "He's right here, Damas. Don't you recognize him?"

Damas shook his head, ignoring Jak's very wide eyes. What it was suggesting was impossible. His voice was flat when he responded. "Jak is not my son. He is far too old."

The Metal Head laughed again. "Only a few minutes ago, just before you showed up, your son went through a Rift Gate that took him to the past. But now he's come back, all grown up, and I ask you again: don't you recognize him?"

Damas' eyes narrowed. _It's lying. It is saying whatever it thinks will put me off balance the most._

And yet, against his will, he saw again the similarities between Jak and his son. With sun and age, Mar's rebellious green hair could easily become Jak's shade of yellow, and even as young as his son was the last time he'd seen him, he could still tell that the boy would take after his mother in terms of size and build. He would be short and thin and wiry... just like Jak. And they could both channel eco...

He angrily derailed these thoughts. "You expect me to believe that time travel is possible?"

"How else do you explain how I knew where Mar's tomb is?" Letting go of Jak's chin, the Metal Head began exploring a wound on his shoulder, its claws slicing through the bandages that had been wrapped around it. Jak gasped when the first sharp tip slipped inside and started digging in, bringing forth a fresh new flow of blood. His hand desperately came up and tried to pull the claw away. "And why," the Metal Head said, ignoring his effort, "would I go to all this effort, bringing together a Rift Gate, an heir of Mar, and the Precursor stone, if I did not expect to have something to gain? Why not just take that Precursor egg and feast on its power instead?"

From the corner of his eye, Damas noticed a slight movement from Sig - a nod and a jerk of his head. His Peacemaker was charged again. All he needed was Damas' command. But with Jak in the Metal Head's hands, there would be no opportunity to use it without putting the boy in danger. They needed to get the Metal Head to put him down. But how?

"I'll tell you why!" the Metal Head went on without giving him a chance to respond. "In the last loop of time, I chased this boy when he went through the Rift Gate, only to be trapped when the gate closed before I made it through. That version of me waited until the boy opened the gate again, but again the boy eluded my grasp. However, though he was injured by the machine that boy used to knock him through the gate, my other self survived long enough to warn _me_ of what was about to happen. In doing so, he changed history..." Its fingers tightened their grip on Jak and its face split into a grin when the boy arched his back with a cry of pain. "And now I intend to change it again."

Damas' hands clenched as he watched. Jak was not in good condition. He was covered in blood and his struggles were beginning to weaken. Then, too, there was the disturbing factor of hearing the boy _scream_ when he'd been all but silent for as long as the king had known him. _He cannot take much more of this._

Even as he came to this conclusion, the Metal Head leaned in and began to nuzzle and lick at its victim's wounds, seeming to relish the strangled choking Jak made each time its tongue slid over savagely parted flesh. The boy twisted in the creature's hand, trying to push it away with his one good arm, but the Metal Head just laughed and captured both his arms, then adjusted its lower grip to bare the boy's stomach. "Your son's blood is very sweet, Damas," it said as it poised its teeth over Jak's exposed flesh. "Are you certain you do not want to save him?"

Damas didn't believe the Metal Head's story, not for one minute. It was too convenient and too far fetched. But Jak did not have time for his skepticism. He needed to act fast. "What is it that you want?" he demanded. He didn't have to fake the glare that he shot at the leering creature.

Apparently, this was the exact reaction the Metal Head was hoping for. It laughed again, this time with a note of triumph, and released Jak's legs so that it could pick up the green stone that had been lying at its feet. "Channel the energy in this stone and open this gate. Do anything else and I will rip this boy's entrails out without a second thought."

The Precursor stone. Damas recognized it from the last time he'd been to this place. _Do not touch it without reason,_ his father had warned him. _It is powerful and dangerous. There is a reason why Mar hid it within his tomb._ Even so, Damas set his gun aside and nodded his acceptance of the Metal Head's terms. He did not look at Sig, though he gestured subtly with his fingers. _Wait for the opportunity._ The Metal Head had not said anything to or about the other man, leaving Damas to wonder if the creature had even seen him before he'd ducked back down. If it hadn't, that could definitely be used to their advantage.

Satisfied with Damas' gesture of submission, the Metal Head set the stone back down right in front of the Precursor ring before returning its claws to Jak's stomach, ready to fulfill its promise if Damas did not do as it said. The boy's face was already screwed up tight with pain, the injuries in his shoulder and arm being done no favors by hanging from the monster's grip on his arms. Still, he managed to meet Damas' eyes, and he shook his head frantically. _Don't do it!_

Damas kept his face impassive. It was admirable that Jak was willing to die to thwart the Metal Head's plan, but it would not be necessary. _Trust me_, he tried to communicate. The boy should know that he was not one to be taken advantage of so easily.

Eyeing the gap in the bridge for only a moment to gauge the distance, Damas took off at a dead run, his feet pounding the short distance to the first ledge and timed just so that the last step hit the edge before propelling him into a powerful leap. Even with the added momentum, though, he barely managed to grab onto the other broken side. His legs swung and dangled above the yawning pit, and the flap of his cloak whispered to him just how close that jump had been. He ignored it in favor of pulling himself up. The Metal Head's eyes glittered as it watched him.

Once he had solid ground under his feet again, the king strode as calmly as his screaming instincts would allow. He had never come this close to a Metal Head so large without a weapon in hand, and his muscles tensed with every step that brought him that much closer to the Metal Head's reach. The Metal Head hunched down like a spider in its trap, but it didn't attack him even when he stepped off onto the platform.

Somehow, that made the feeling of wrongness worse.

Even so, Damas forced himself to keep going, heading straight for the Precursor stone despite the threat that loomed only a few feet away. Dropping to one knee, he let the tips of his fingers brush the stone, absorbing the first shock of power before scooping it up with one hand. His skin tingled and prickled, but he ignored the feeling and stood up. His other hand lifted to touch the Precursor ring.

Jak's voice croaked desperately. In spite of himself, Damas glanced at the boy, surprised by the words he almost thought he'd heard. The vowels were all wrong, sounding scraped and raw, but the consonants... Jak immediately caught his eyes and shook his head again, his mouth opening to try to repeat the warning.

But the Metal Head viciously bit into the thickest part of his leg, turning his attempted speech into another cry of pain. Damas stiffened, but before he could even think to act, the Metal Head's jaws released their hold, leaving Jak gritting his teeth in agony. Blood quickly soaked his now-tattered pants and he looked like he was having trouble even holding his head up. He was probably this close to passing out.

The Metal Head didn't seem to care. "Open the Rift Gate, Damas," it growled. "And no more delays. I grow tired of waiting." It didn't need to state its threat to make it clear.

The muscles in Damas' jaw clenched and he glared right back, but he knew there was nothing he could do at the moment without putting his plan in jeopardy. Even so, his voice was laced with steel when he responded. "If you kill him, I will have no reason to cooperate, Metal Head."

"Then I would just have to kill you and settle for devouring that Precursor egg," the Metal Head shot back. "Either way, I stand to gain. Now do as I say or there won't be _any_ chance of your son living to see another day!"

It grated on him to back down, even in pretense, but with a snarl, Damas turned his attention back to the green stone in his hand. Power pulsed in response, his long experience with channeling eco making it easy to draw it out. Green-white lightning coursed through his limbs, racing through his blood and nerves like a creature possessed, then passed through his fingers into the Precursor ring. A low hum started to fill the air.

Then Damas cut it off with a stagger that had him leaning against the ring for support. Gasping for breath, he dropped to his knees, his nerveless fingers almost losing their grip. "I... can't..."

The Metal Head reared up and slammed its front feet down in a fit of rage, making the whole platform shake. "You can!" it insisted. "Do not think you can lie to me, Damas! Your son was more than capable of performing this task, and he is barely into adolescence!"

"I do not have his talent for channeling eco!" Damas snapped. "If you want this gate open, I will need his help." And there it was, the bid he'd been trying to make this whole time. He had to force himself not to hold his breath while he waited for the Metal Head to react.

At first, the creature said nothing, its eyes boring into him suspiciously as it considered what he was asking. Damas lifted his chin, as though determined not to show any weakness, but he let his breath come out ragged and uneven to undermine this image. He even went so far as to allow his limbs to tremble from exhaustion. It was important that the Metal Head think him unable to do this by himself.

Finally, the Metal Head snorted with contempt and unceremoniously dropped its captive. Jak's body crumpled the moment it hit the ground. "Very well," the Metal Head sneered, using its tail to shove the teenager forward. "Though I do not see how much _help_ he can possibly be." Indeed, Damas wasn't certain that the shock of hitting the ground hadn't knocked the boy out.

It didn't matter. Under the pretense of checking on the boy's condition, he pulled Jak into his arms and away from the looming creature. The blood that slicked his body made it difficult to get a firm grip, and there were so many wounds to avoid, but soon Damas held him, shielding him, with the Precursor stone sandwiched uncomfortably between, and he raised his hand to signal Sig.

_Now!_

Electric blue light blazed through the room almost before Damas had lifted his hand, and the air shattered with an unholy shriek as the attack slammed into the Metal Head's chest. It wasn't enough to kill it, nor was it enough to knock it off of the ledge, but with a new and very deadly threat to focus on, the monster completely ignored both him and Jak. Without a moment's hesitation, Damas reached for the energy of the stone-

-only to find that eco was already crackling around Jak's broken body. The boy's eyes were open in a glare of determination and pain that was aimed straight at the Metal Head's back. Damas nearly swore out loud as more and more energy poured into the child's body, more than he could possibly handle safely, but though Jak's breath came harsh and rapid, he continued to draw the eco in.

"No!" Damas' hand clamped down on Jak's which had somehow found its way up to the stone. Eco danced across his skin, jumping back and forth between the two of them until Damas managed to catch the energy and hold it in his body. He glared angrily down into the boy's blue eyes. "You will not do this alone!"

Black and purple light flared overhead as the Metal Head shot back at Sig and something exploded, but Damas refused to look away from the stupid, reckless, incredibly stubborn boy in his arms. Jak's eyes widened briefly.

Then something flickered in his expression and he nodded, relinquishing some of his control over the Precursor stone's energy. Damas readily took over, pulling in eco even as he twined what he had with the power that Jak continued to hold. The energy reverberated between them, growing in intensity until it raged around them like storm, until all it needed was a gesture from Damas' hand before it leaped out straight for a target it couldn't miss.

It was like watching lightning strike a scorpion in the desert - only this scorpion was much larger and could scream as it fried and scrabbled and thrashed. Its tail whipped around and crashed into the Precursor ring, denting the thing badly enough that the metal actually cracked, but its efforts to maintain its balance were blown to pieces when another blast from Sig's Peacemaker slammed into its devastated body. With another screech, the Metal Head staggered.

But there was no ground where it tried to place its feet, and its scream echoed and echoed as it fell into the abyss. It was several long moments before there was silence.

Then Sig whooped with victory as he finally strode into the room. "Hell, yeah! And _that's_ why you don't mess with Wastelanders!"

**-End Chapter Twenty-**


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

**-Chapter Twenty-One-**

Jak honestly could not remember a time when he hurt as much as he did right then. It was a struggle even to maintain consciousness, especially now that the threat had passed. Even beyond the pain of his injuries and the dark eco he could still feel poisoning his body from the Metal Head's earlier torture, his nerves felt raw and burned out - from the torture or from channeling all that eco, he didn't know - and he was so lightheaded he could barely think.

But there was one thought racing through his head, repeating itself over and over, that he just couldn't ignore. He latched onto it, in fact, clutching at it like a drowning man with a rope. When Damas tried to gently lay him down, he shook his head and hooked his fingers into the king's armor. _No._ He didn't want to leave the man's arms. Not until he knew.

"Let go, Jak," Damas said sternly. "I need to take a look at your wounds." As he spoke, he started prying Jak's fingers loose.

Jak shook his head again and tried to catch his eyes - _blue eyes that could almost be purple, a man standing over him as sand-laced wind blew through his hair_ - and when he opened his mouth, for the first time in his life he didn't think as he tried to speak. He just formed the word and let the sound come out.

It came out raspy and raw.

"Fa... ther...?"

He had to know. He had to know if the Metal Head was telling the truth. All his life he'd wondered, telling himself he didn't care, but he did, and now here was the first clue he'd ever been given. And it was a clue that _fit_. Samos, the boy, the Rift Gate, the way things felt familiar and different, the reason why he couldn't find Sandover - what if time travel _was_ what the Rift Gate did? It would explain so much.

Damas' hand stilled at the question. Then slowly, almost regretfully, he shook his head. "No," he said, his voice soft. "The Metal Head was toying with us, Jak, trying to manipulate our emotions. But it isn't possible. There is no such thing as time travel."

Jak stared up at him, searching every line of his face even as a lump formed in his throat. He didn't want to let the idea go - but Damas' serious expression left no room for doubt. His eyes closed as he fought the hurt of disappointment. He had wanted... He had hoped... His train of thought slid out of focus and his head lolled ever so slightly before he could think to stop it. This time he didn't resist when Damas lowered him to the ground.

"Shit." Sig was there, had somehow joined them, but Jak could not remember when. He opened his eyes in time to see the Wastelander crouch down next to him. "That bastard really did a number on him."

Damas was grim as he agreed. "Indeed. And without eco, I am not certain he will survive to see a medic."

"Hell, I don't see how we can get him across the pit without gettin' a platform or somethin' from the surface."

Damas shook his head. "There's no time," he said. "I will have to see what I can do with the power in the Precursor stone. If I can separate the different kinds of eco..."

Was that even possible? Jak didn't know. There was so much about eco that he didn't know, so much he'd learned since coming here, light eco and vents and shields and stones, bullets in guns and empty shells on the floor. His thoughts drifted... then suddenly came back into sharp focus when Damas laid his hand on his chest. With a feeble sound of protest, Jak curled his fingers around the man's hand.

_No. No more eco._ The thought alone made him want to wince. His body hurt, but his nerves felt even worse. He'd channeled so much, pulled in every drop that he could, and then even more when Damas' help had amplified the stone's power. He felt empty and broken, like those shells on the floor, and he never wanted to touch eco again - especially not the eco in that stone.

But Damas ignored him, his hand immovable. "Breathe, Jak," he murmured. "Just focus on breathing." Threads of green began to lift away from the faint glow that surrounded him, and they traveled down his arm and into Jak's chest. Jak was surprised when it didn't hurt.

It just felt... warm.

_Warm and sand and someone holding him and someday he'd be a warrior because that's what _he'd_ said. He'd fight monsters and bad guys, and then his father..._

_His father would be proud. Because he'd be... just like..._

"Mar." The name slipped through his lips so easily he almost didn't realize that he'd spoken. Even when Damas started in surprise, he could barely pull himself out of hazy delirium long enough to answer his confusion. "Just like... Mar. I remember... you said..."

_Was_ he even speaking? Or was it more of the dream? Damas didn't seem to understand because he was just staring at him. His throat hurt, though, so maybe he was just screaming. He remembered screaming a lot.

No. If he was screaming, he wouldn't be lying on the floor and letting his eyes drift shut. He'd still feel claws and dark eco and a monster's hot breath, and Damas and Sig wouldn't be sitting next to him. They'd be fighting, and so would he, no matter how much he hurt, because that's what warriors did. And he really, really wanted to be just like...

Just like...

-o-

"...father..." The hoarse whisper before Jak fell unconscious was so soft Damas almost couldn't hear it. Even so, something tightened in his chest and he closed his eyes briefly.

Father. He never had asked Jak about his parents. Apparently, Jak knew as little as he did if he believed there was a chance that Damas could be his father. There was a certain, bitter irony in that. The boy must have lost his father just as he had lost his son. Damas wondered if the Metal Head had known all this when it picked out the story that it would use to trick them. It seemed too convenient to be a coincidence. Then again, Jak _did_ look a good deal like his son. If the Metal Head had ever seen Mar, it would be fairly easy for it to imagine a connection, especially with Jak's talent for channeling eco. Either way, it made for a very believable lie.

But a lie was all it was.

"Damas." Sig broke into his thoughts. When Damas looked at him, the other Wastelander nodded his head toward the broken bridge. "You want me to go topside to find somethin' for the bridge, or you want me to stay and watch your six?"

"Go," Damas said. "If there are any Metal Heads left, they would have come when their leader was in danger. I doubt they would attack now that their leader is dead. Just get me Jak's gun from where I dropped it." Because even though he did not think he'd be attacked, it did not hurt to be armed just in case.

But they needed to get Jak out of here as soon as possible. It was difficult pulling green eco from the complex mix of power in the stone and the process was far too slow and exhausting to be anything more than a stopgap measure to keep the boy from dying before they could get him to a medic. Damas would burn out long before Jak was healed completely.

Sig nodded and stood, needing only to look at Jak to understand the reasoning behind the command, and soon Damas was alone in the chamber. Alone except for a teenager who would not be waking up anytime soon. As he paused to collect more eco, returning what he'd already sifted to the stone, he let his eyes roam. He lingered on the Precursor ring, dented badly out of shape and perhaps never to be fixed. Then he moved on to the statue that had once held the stone he currently had in his hand. It would have been ideal to return the stone to its original resting place, but with the condition that all the doors were in, Mar's tomb was no longer the safest place to keep it. He would have to find a different hiding place. He let his eyes return to Jak.

Only to stop midway when he noticed something lying on the floor. His breath froze in his chest. No. It couldn't be.

But there it was, just barely within his reach, and it was with trembling fingers that he reached out to pick the amulet up. The familiar weight and feel, the tiny chip in the otherwise smooth side, even the old leather cord he could remember tying, though the knot had come undone - there could be no denying whose seal this was.

The Metal Head's words echoed in his head. _Only a few minutes ago, just before you showed up, your son went through a Rift Gate that took him to the past._

"Mar," Damas whispered. His son had been here. And, if the Metal Head was to be believed, he had gone through that ring... the ring that was now possibly too broken to fix. Grief welled up within him anew as he clutched at the seal in his hand. He'd been so close. So _close._ If only...

_But now he's come back, all grown up._

Unwilling and yet unable to do anything else, his eyes were drawn back to the sleeping teenager. It couldn't be. It couldn't be possible.

_Don't you recognize him?_

He put the seal down and slowly, carefully placed his hand on Jak's head, pushing his goggles back so that his hair could fall free. It was longer than Mar's had been, but that was only to be expected. Was it his imagination, though, or was it trying to twist and lift in the exact same patterns?

_Just like... Mar. I remember... you said..._

Only Damas had never named his son in Jak's presence or remarked on their resemblance anywhere the boy could hear, nor had he made such a comment in reference to the original Mar. Not to _Jak,_ that is. He had, however, once told his son that he would grow up to be just like the ancient warrior.

_You're reading too much into this,_ the logical part of his mind numbly told him. The boy had been delirious, his words barely intelligible. It could all easily be a coincidence.

Unfortunately, he still did not like to believe in coincidence.

But what did that leave him with? Time travel? The notion was absurd. If the past could be changed, the future that had formed it would cease to exist and so the change could never happen. Even if a stable loop could be formed where the altered events in the past produced the very future that would send someone back to repeat it, there still had to be a beginning. There had to have been an original set of events that did _not_ include time travel, and then they were right back where they started where the past that was formed could not be created once the original future was changed.

It made his head hurt just thinking about it.

And yet, when he looked at Jak, he couldn't completely rid himself of the doubt that had been planted. Even as he returned his attention to the task of keeping the boy alive, he couldn't help but wonder...

What if it was somehow true?

-o-

When Sig returned to the chamber in the tomb, he found Damas and the kid right where he'd left them. Jak was still pale and unconscious, though most of the blood had been wiped away and his injuries had been bound with strips of cloth, most likely from Damas' cloak. Damas, on the other hand, looked worn out and exhausted, but still surrounded by swirling eco. Having never channeled eco in his life, Sig had no idea what it felt like, but he knew he'd never seen the king deal with the stuff for so long.

He was still alert, though, looking up the moment Sig entered the room. The troubled expression on his face vanished in favor of relief, especially when he saw the zoomer that Sig was carefully guiding. Sig would have liked to have brought something larger, but the cramped elevator at the entrance wouldn't allow it. Still, this would at least get Jak across the broken bridge.

"Good," Damas said wearily. He lifted his hand from Jak's chest and the glow around him faded. As Sig flew the zoomer over the pit, the king wrapped the Precursor stone in the remains of his cloak, then set it aside so that he could scoop Jak up. However, when he tried to hand the boy over, Sig shook his head and dismounted.

"No," he said bluntly. "Maybe you don't have a mirror to see it, but you look like leaper crap, Damas. I'm still fresh as a daisy. You take the zoomer and Jak, and _I'll_ jump across."

Something glinted in Damas' eyes, reminding him that the king had never been one to take orders from others. After a moment, though, the stubbornness receded and the man gave him a tired nod. That more than anything said what kind of condition he must be in. "Very well," he said. Then he nodded his head toward the bundle on the ground. "Put the Precursor stone in the seat compartment."

Sig nodded and did as he said, and as soon as the stone was safely stowed, Damas swung a leg over the zoomer's seat and settled Jak in front of him. It would be an awkward ride at best, as he needed one arm wrapped around the unconscious teen to keep him from falling off, but Damas managed well enough. Sig followed behind him, making the leap and grabbing onto the ledge with relatively little trouble. Once they were on the other side, Sig took point, his gun out and ready in case they were attacked.

The tomb remained quite, though, and the only trouble they encountered came from the fish, which Sig knocked out with the butt of his Peacemaker. Before they reached the elevator, though, Damas stopped the zoomer so that he could wrap his scarf back around his head. Then he turned to Sig.

"I want to take Jak back to Spargus," he said. "I trust the monks more than any medic in Haven, and I do not think it would be a good idea for any of us to remain in the city. If the Metal Heads managed to penetrate this deep without raising any alarms, there is no place safe within the walls."

Sig frowned. "That ain't a short flight, Damas. You think Jak can last that long?"

Damas nodded once, with no sign of doubt. "His wounds have stopped bleeding, for the most part, and I can keep him stable with the Precursor stone."

That would mean more channeling, though, and Damas was already tired. Sig gave the man a piercing look, but he had no way to judge his limits on this. He'd have to trust Damas to know what he was doing.

"Right," he said. "Let's go."

The elevator was crowded with all three of them and the zoomer, but it managed the load with ease, a testament to the Precursor technology that had been used to make it. When they emerged from the tomb, it was to a scene much like the one they'd left behind when they had first entered, the lives of the Havenites untouched by what had happened down below. Only a few people even glanced at them while most just trudged on with averted eyes, too wrapped up in their own problems to notice anyone else. Frankly, that was just fine with Sig. The less attention they drew, the better.

It wasn't all that far back to the docks and the landing platform, or he would have considered finding another zoomer. As it was, he could travel fast enough on foot to keep up with the pace Damas was forced to maintain by both the traffic and the difficulty of maneuvering and holding onto Jak at the same time. In short order, they were back at the landing platform, where the pilot had obviously been instructed to wait. Damas immediately dismounted and carried Jak into the transport while Sig retrieved the stone from the zoomer, making sure that it stayed well wrapped. He didn't worry about the zoomer itself. He hadn't exactly gotten hold of it legally, so he didn't care if it was stolen right back.

The door closed almost as soon as he got on, and the transport lifted off the ground. Well used to the sudden motion from all the trips he'd made, Sig found his balance easily enough before he dropped down next to Damas and handed him the bundle. The man finished pulling his scarf off, then nodded as he accepted the stone. Once the cloak was removed, giving him access to the stone beneath, he placed his hand on Jak and began to channel again. Once more the light of eco surrounded him, mostly white with sparks of green that quickly traveled down his arm and into the boy on the floor.

Silence descended, broken only by the hum of the transport and the soft crackle of swirling energy.

Sig opened his mouth.

But Damas spoke first. "He said he grew up in Sandover." There was a strange expression on his face, puzzled and pensive, like he'd just been given a drink by a Marauder who claimed they were friends. He couldn't believe it wasn't poisoned, but the fact that he hadn't died yet was making him forced to reassess.

_He's thinkin' about what that Metal Head said._ Sig hummed noncommittally. He didn't know what to think about it either. Normally, he wouldn't believe a Metal Head even if it told him the sky turned black at night, but something about this particular story rang too close to what he'd already begun to suspect. He didn't know if time travel was possible, but if it was...

If it was, was it really that far of a stretch to think that Jak might be Damas' grown son?

Still, he would let Damas draw his own conclusions. "Yeah," he said. "But Daxter said he came from somewhere else when he was just a kid."

"Hnn." Damas frowned, the lines on his face looking particularly pronounced in the strange light of the eco around him. Still channeling, he moved his hand up to smooth the hair away from Jak's face. "Nonetheless, he claims to have lived in a village that no longer exists."

There wasn't exactly much to say to that, so Sig just nodded. On the surface, it seemed that Jak's story fit with what the Metal Head said. His story _would_ be possible if there was time travel involved.

But that didn't necessarily mean that was the only explanation, and therein lay the danger of making assumptions.

"Maybe," Sig said cautiously, "you should wait until Jak wakes up before you think about this too much."

Damas continued to stare at Jak for several long moments before he finally looked up. His eyes were still distant, though, and his expression still lost in thought. "Yes," he said. "I want to know what happened before we showed up."

-o-

Jak's return to consciousness was slow and lethargic, and it took him a while to even realize that he was awake. Then someone gave him something to drink, and almost immediately his awareness faded. He didn't mind. The warm, drug-filled haze was pleasant and comfortable - infinitely preferable to being in pain. He readily drank each time he felt the cup pressed to his lips.

He was dimly aware of time passing, as light sometimes filtered through his eyelids and other times didn't. Sometimes he thought he felt someone near, someone besides whoever owned the clinical hands that held the cup and changed his bandages, but the vague, familiar presence always kept a careful distance. Other times it was a different person, a man with an easygoing voice who talked without caring if Jak was listening.

Eventually, though, he came to and was not presented with a cup. He lay there for a while, content to enjoy the soft bed he was in while his mind slowly accepted being awake. Even when he opened his eyes, he wasn't inclined to move. His body ached dully, informing him that it hadn't been _that_ long since he'd fallen asleep.

Someone moved into view, leaning forward so that Jak could see him without turning his head. White hair framed his stern face, and his distinctive armor creaked.

_Damas._

"Jak," Damas answered him, as though Jak had spoken out loud. "How are you feeling?"

_Like I got run over by a zoomer._ That was what he wanted to say, but it was too complex to communicate with just one hand. His other arm, besides being bound up tightly, felt too stiff and sore to even think to use. Jak ended up settling for lifting his hand and letting it flop back to the bed. Yeah, that was about the way he felt.

Damas' hand settled on top of his, gently but firmly trapping it in place. Jak blinked and furrowed his brows in confusion, but soon found himself pinned by the man's stare. "Jak," he repeated. "How are you feeling?"

Jak tugged on his hand. How did Damas expect him to answer if he couldn't-

_Father?_

Jak stilled as the memory of the aftermath in the tomb resurfaced. He remembered what the Metal Head said, what he'd thought, and the question that he'd asked out loud. He remembered, too, the answer he'd gotten, and again he felt a flash of disappointment.

But that wasn't the issue at hand. The issue was the _question_, the fact that he'd _spoken._ It hadn't been a dream or his imagination.

And now Damas expected him to use his voice again.

He hesitated. It seemed so impossible, even though he'd done it once. He'd tried so many times before and met with no success. What had made this one time different? Still, his mouth formed the shape of the word that he wanted. He wouldn't know if he could if he didn't try.

The croak that came out only half-resembled anything coherent, making Jak wince with a different kind of discouragement. He mouthed the word again, then again, so that he wouldn't need to think about what he was saying, he could just concentrate completely on getting the sound right. He would do this. He _could_.

His voice rasped even worse than before.

Frustration bubbled hotly under his skin and he had to close his eyes to fight back the emotion. His good hand balled up into a useless fist. _Why? What am I doing wrong?_

"Stop trying to force the words out," Damas said, recapturing his attention. "People rarely think about their words as they're speaking. You spoke before when your mind was preoccupied with pain. Try focusing on something else before you open your mouth."

Jak frowned, but he'd tried just about everything else. Unfortunately, that was easier said that done. How could he _not_ think about what he was doing when it _wasn't_ second nature to him? No matter what he tried thinking about - Daxter, Sandover, riding zoomers in the basin - his mind kept skipping back to his mouth and his throat. He ended up coughing on the strange way his vocal cords seized up.

Damas regarded him for a moment, then suddenly tightened his grip. "Focus on this," he said as his fingers dug into Jak's skin.

Jak gasped and winced, though it would take a lot more than what Damas was doing to equal anything the Metal Head had just put him through. That didn't mean it was comfortable, though, and again he tried to free his hand.

"Focus!" Damas snapped.

Startled, Jak did as he was told. Unlike his memories, Damas' fingers were solid and real, and his grip on his hand was firm. It was easy enough to think about them and the pain in his hand as long as Damas kept applying that pressure. It...

"...hurts..."

He almost didn't realize he'd spoken at first. He didn't recognize that sound as _his_ voice. It was scratchy and imperfect, but it was coherent, and it had said a _word._ His eyes widened as he looked at Damas.

The man was smiling. "Good. Very good, Jak." He released Jak's hand. "Now try it again."

Something inside him warmed at the smile and, encouraged by the praise and his own success, he opened his mouth again. "It... hurts," he said, and it was so hard to keep thinking about the pain in his body when joy was flooding him. Two words. Just two words. But they were _his_ and they could be understood. His voice rasped when he tried to add, "A little."

"Good," Damas said again, not seeming to mind the slight backslip. Then the smile faded into something more serious and he reached a hand inside the fold of his clothes to pull out a small stone amulet. "Now, what can you tell me about this?"

Jak's eyes went to the amulet, tracing the pattern of circles carved into the front, and after a moment he realized that he recognized it. It was the amulet the boy had worn, the one he fidgeted with when he was scared or nervous. When had he dropped it?

Damas cut into his thoughts, his voice laced with tension. "Jak."

He looked at the king, and found himself trapped by an intense purple gaze. This question was important. So important that Damas needed him to _speak_, to tell him exactly what he knew without relying on vague gestures or pantomimed impressions. There could be no room for guesses.

Jak found himself swallowing. Could he do this?

"There was..." His voice cracked, then gave out on him, and with a grimace he pressed his nails into his palm. _Focus,_ he told himself. _Focus on _this.

He tried again.

"There was... a boy. He... wore it. I sent him... after Samos... through the ring. That's why..." He had to pause to take a breath and swallow again. His throat hurt and his mouth felt so dry. Was speaking always going to be like this? "That's why I... didn't want you to open it. If it was closed... he was safe."

Something indescribable passed across Damas' face. Then he closed his eyes, suddenly looking so old. "I see." Before Jak could say anything else, though, he opened his eyes and looked at Jak, almost as though he was studying him. "This... Samos. He'll take care of him?"

Not certain exactly what was going on, Jak nodded. He knew that much at least. "Samos... helped raise me. He's... a good man." Strict and stern and with a tendency to go off on long-winded rants, but he'd taught Jak and kept him safe. He'd even found someone to take him in. If the boy was with him, he'd be in good hands.

Even with Jak's reassurance, though, Damas' shoulders still seemed to be weighted down. The corners of his eyes were tight and his lips were pressed into a thin line. Jak hesitantly reached out to touch his hand. His throat was tired, though, unused to what he was doing with it, and he no longer needed to be precise. It was easy to fall back into old habits and let his body communicate for him. _What's wrong?_

Damas didn't answer him for a long time. When he did, it wasn't a direct response. "Do you remember anything before you lived in Sandover?"

The question seemed to come out of nowhere, catching Jak off guard. He stared at Damas uncertainly, then lifted his hand and wavered it. _Not..._ He caught himself. "Not... really," he croaked out. "Just... sometimes... I have dreams."

"Dreams?" Damas echoed.

Jak nodded and dropped his hand back to the bed, where he began to pluck at the sheets. It felt strange to be talking without moving his fingers, and it left him feeling restless. Or maybe it was just the awkwardness of the topic at hand. His dreams weren't something he even discussed with Daxter. "I think... maybe... I lived in a desert. I have a dream sometimes... about a man... and lots..." His voice disappeared for a moment, forcing him to back up and try again. "Lots of sand." He coughed. It was getting harder and harder to get the words out, even with the trick of using pain to distract him.

Damas reached out and picked up a cup from a table next to Jak's bed. When he pressed it to Jak's lips, though, it only held water, with no hint or trace of the drugs he'd been given before. Jak drank it gratefully anyway, and it seemed to help soothe some of the pain in his throat. Damas set the cup aside.

"In your dreams," he said, "did this man ever speak to you?" He still had a strange expression on his face, as though he'd never quite seen Jak before. The heavy emotion from before was there, too, but Jak still couldn't figure out what it was. Pain or grief, or maybe defeat.

Jak stared back at him, wondering why it mattered. Even if it was a memory and not just a dream, it must have happened years ago. What could it possibly have to do with... with _anything?_ But Damas continued to watch him, waiting for an answer. Jak shifted uncomfortably.

"He said... someday I'd be a warrior. Just like..." He fumbled for the name. What had it been? "Just like..."

Damas closed his eyes, and for the first time Jak noticed how ragged his breathing had become. "Mar," he whispered. "Just like Mar." His head bowed and his body shuddered once.

_Mar._ That had been the name. Jak's eyes widened in surprise and he struggled to sit up, alarmed by the way Damas was reacting. What was wrong? _Damas?_ His body protested every movement he made, but he ignored it, reaching out for the man's shoulder. Was he having a heart attack?

But Damas' hand intercepted his before it could touch him, and when his eyes opened they were as clear as ever. For a moment he said nothing, just held Jak's hand as he struggled with whatever he was thinking. Finally, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then looked up to study Jak more closely. Not knowing what was going on or what Damas was looking for, Jak held still. There was something important about all this, something he was missing. He searched Damas' face for a clue to what it was.

Finally, the man spoke. "I took my son into the desert once," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "Shortly before he was taken from me. We lived in Haven, but Spargus was where he was born, where his mother lived before she died. I was taking him to her grave so she could see how he was growing."

Whatever Jak had been expecting him to say, this was not it. Not something so personal and private. He almost felt like an intruder even though Damas was sharing it willingly. He opened his mouth.

But Damas shook his head, cutting him off before he could speak. "I told my son stories on the way there," he went on. "To keep him entertained." The corners of his mouth lifted into a brief, nostalgic smile. "He always liked the stories about Mar the best. I think he liked to think the stories were about him." The smile faded, and his expression once more became serious. He met Jak's eyes. "I named my son Mar, after the great warrior. And I told him..." He hesitated. "I told him someday he'd grow up to be just like him."

_What?_ If Jak had been still before, it felt now like his muscles were frozen. What was Damas saying? He couldn't be... He'd said...

"You said... time travel... was impossible." The words scratched and broke, but he didn't care. He was having trouble just breathing. "You said..."

"I know," Damas said. "But I do not know everything, and I cannot deny the evidence in front of my face. Maybe I am wrong. Maybe you are... my son." His voice was thick with emotion as he said those last two words. "All I know is that you sent my son through a gate with the man who raised you, a gate that a Metal Head claims would have taken them to the past. You also traveled through such a gate, from a village that no longer exists. You look so much like him..." He shuddered again, and this time Jak recognized it for what it was: a man too proud and strong to give in to his grief.

His son. For a moment, Jak forgot everything else in the realization of who that child was. That little boy was Damas' son?

_Heir of Mar._

_Damas of the House of Mar._

The Metal Head's words came back to him, telling him he should have figured that out a whole lot sooner. But the Metal Head had also called _him_ an heir of Mar, and he wasn't... Damas wasn't...

He took a deep, shaky breath. He'd been ready to believe that Damas was his father when the Metal Head had first made that claim, but he'd been in so much pain, he hadn't been in any state to think clearly. Now... Now he didn't know what to think.

He looked at his hand, the one that Damas still held by the wrist.

He remembered _a hand holding his, so much larger, so warm, but not as warm as the sand._

And when he looked at Damas' face, he could see _wind blowing through white hair that was bound into separate pieces._

He swallowed. Could he really believe? Not just pretend for the sake of wanting a father, or to make up for sending Damas' son through the gate, but really and truly _believe?_ He took another breath.

"Say it," he said hoarsely. "Say what you said to... to your son. In the desert."

_Someday..._

Damas regarded him for a moment. Jak couldn't tell if he was considering the request, if he even understood why Jak was asking, or if he was just trying to remember the exact words he'd said. Jak locked eyes with him, refusing to back down or be intimidated. He had to know.

_Someday you will be-_

"-a great warrior," Damas murmured, his voice overlapping with the voice in Jak's memory. "Just like Mar." He never blinked or looked away, and his attention was so complete and so serious that it felt like the words were meant for Jak and weren't just being repeated.

Something inside the teen gave way. His throat constricted, making it impossible to speak, but that was okay because his body knew how to say what he wanted. With a soft sound, he leaned forward and buried his face in the startled king's chest. He didn't care that it was a childish gesture, or that Damas' armor didn't make it comfortable. He wouldn't have cared if anyone else had walked in, either. Right then, nothing else mattered, especially when Damas' arms hesitantly, awkwardly wrapped around him.

Because he had found his father.

**-End Chapter Twenty-One-**


	22. Epilogue

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sand box.

**-Epilogue-**

Jak was sleeping again when Sig came back into the infirmary, but this time he wasn't alone. Damas sat in the chair next to his bed, turned so that he could watch the boy sleep. Sig paused in the doorway, considering the man for a moment. He wasn't certain he'd ever seen that expression on his face. Somehow it was both troubled and at peace.

"Sig," Damas said, lifting his head to acknowledge the other's presence. Their eyes met and Sig knew that Damas wanted to talk. He nodded.

"What is it?" he asked as he came more fully into the room. There wasn't really any place for him to sit, as the only chair was currently occupied. That was all right. He was fine with standing. He stopped when he was a few feet away, though close enough to Jak's bed that he was able to get a good look at the boy's color. He seemed to be doing much better.

"When you were on your mission," Damas said, "what was your impression of him?" He didn't need to specify who he was talking about. His attention was already back on the teen.

Sig had already told him the details of the mission and everything that Jak had done, including the moment he'd taken on the Metal Heads on his own to give Sig a chance to heal. And Damas had seen for himself how the kid didn't back down or give in to torture. If he was looking to see if Jak had the qualities he was looking for when he'd sent him on the mission in the first place, Jak should have already proven himself twice over. So what was he really asking?

He decided to take the question at face value. "Let me put it this way," he said bluntly. "You ever send me on a mission where I need a partner, I'll take him, hands down. Kid's a little green, but he makes up for it where it counts."

"Hnn." Damas seemed unsurprised by Sig's response. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I am considering awarding him the second part of his battle amulet. This mission may not have taken place in or near our city, but I am beginning to suspect that that Metal Head's plans were a direct threat to Spargus." He looked up to meet Sig's eyes again. "A direct and very immediate threat."

Damas had his attention. "How so?" he asked. To warrant a piece of an amulet without fighting in the arena, a person practically had to save the city, and while he would be the first to admit that the Metal Head in Mar's tomb had been a nasty son of a bitch, Spargus had deflected attacks from worse. How had the city been in danger?

The man pursed his lips, steepling his fingers underneath his chin. His expression was serious, as were his next words. "The two biggest thorns in the Metal Heads' side are Haven and Spargus. If a Metal Head could go back in time, far enough that neither city had been formed, what do you think it would do?"

It didn't take much imagination to picture what would happen. "Shit." Forget being just a threat - the city would have been wiped out before it ever _existed._

"Exactly."

Sig looked at Damas sharply. Him asking that question implied a whole hell of a lot of things, more so because he didn't seem to be treating it as hypothetical. "You think it was tellin' the truth?"

Damas hesitated, his eyes going back to the boy on the bed. Emotions flickered across his face, there and gone before Sig could read them. Finally, he said, "He remembers me. He remembers a trip we took to the desert, as well as what I said to him. How would that be possible, Sig, if he wasn't my son?"

With a slow breath, Sig leaned back against the edge of Jak's bed, watching as the pieces all fell together. Because if Jak had some memory of being Damas' son, it meant he had to have traveled through time. Twice. And that right there was enough evidence to support the Metal Head's claim.

Suddenly, he laughed out loud. When Damas shot him a curious look, he grinned wryly. "I was just thinkin'," he said. "Good luck tryin' to explain all this to anyone else." Hell, the only reason he believed was because he'd been there to see most of it himself.

The comment earned him a chuckle. "Yes," Damas agreed. "Although I think it would be best if we didn't. The fewer people who know about the Precursor stone, the better, and I do not think it would be a good idea to speak of time travel, either. It would not do for someone else to get the idea that they can change history."

No, it wouldn't. The gate in Mar's tomb might have been damaged beyond repair, but that did not mean that there wasn't another one out there. The _last_ Rift Gate, Jak had told them the Metal Head said. That implied that there were others. How many and whether or not any of them were functional was another question, but it was still better to err on the side of caution.

"So, what're you gonna say about your relationship to Jak?" Sig lifted an eyebrow. "Or is that gonna be a secret, too?"

Damas shook his head, standing up as he did so. "No," he said firmly. "He is my son and I will openly acknowledge him as such. I do not need to say anything beyond that." He let his hand touch Jak's head briefly, pushing back a few locks of blond-green hair. "I am more than old enough to have a child his age. Let people assume that I slept with another woman before I met his mother." He pulled his hand back and turned toward the door.

Sig didn't hesitate before he followed. Jak would still be there when he came back, but this conversation was not over. He still had something to say.

"You know what this means, don't you?" he said casually as he came up to other man's side. When Damas looked at him curiously, he bared his teeth in a wide, fierce grin. "I found your son, damn it. Mission fuckin' accomplished!"

And Damas laughed for the first time in what seemed like years.

-o-

Fur and whiskers filled his vision the next time Jak woke up, and an ottsel's angry blue eyes glared down at him as he blinked back up. Daxter didn't even give him a chance to speak before poking him sharply in the nose.

"You are in a _world_ of trouble, buddy," he growled. "And no amount of beautiful babes pettin' my fur is gonna get you out of it." He paused. "Although, that _was_ a nice perk. Still-" And the glower was back in full force. "Next time you go and get us nearly killed, you had better not ever let me wake up to this!" Paper cracked like a whip as the ottsel grabbed something off the bed and shoved it right in his friend's face. Jak nearly went cross-eyed trying to see what it was.

When he did, though, he had to stifle a laugh. It was the drawing he'd made of Daxter that he'd given to Tess in the bar. Still, he couldn't resist the impulse to push the paper aside and ruffle Daxter's fur, spiking it up in odd places. _Aw, but it looks just like you._

Daxter swatted his hand aside. "Cut that out! I mean it, Jak. You are forbidden from ever drawing my face again, ya hear?"

Jak just grinned, refusing to make promises. What were friends for if they couldn't embarrass each other? _You're just mad because I gave it to Tess._ They knew few enough girls that the vague cupping motion he made at his chest was readily identifiable in the current context.

Daxter scowled. "And _especially_ don't ever give your crappy drawings to beautiful girls. I swear, you _want_ me to stay single, don't you."

Jak dropped his hand to the bed and used it to help push himself up right. Then, before Daxter could protest, he wrapped his arm around the ottsel and pulled him into a hug. _I'm glad you're all right, too. I was so worried..._

The ottsel huffed and pretended to put up with it, but Jak could feel as he leaned into the hug. "Don't you scare me like that again," he mumbled into Jak's chest. "When that Metal Head grabbed you..." He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. Jak understood what he meant, because he'd felt it too, the moment he'd heard Daxter's scream cut off.

_Yeah._ After another moment, he let go, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His left leg in particular protested the movement, but he was feeling too restless to lie still any longer. He wanted to move and go outside. He wanted to feel the sun. _Come on._ He gestured toward his shoulder, then held his hand out to help Daxter up. Daxter still had bandages wrapped around his middle and probably shouldn't be straining anything by climbing around.

Kind of like how Jak probably shouldn't be moving around, either, but he'd already determined that it would be worth it. Once Daxter was settled on his shoulder, he slid out of the bed and carefully put his weight on his feet. With the pain that immediately throbbed in his leg, he turned his head to look at his friend.

He opened his mouth.

"I have... so much... to tell you."

Daxter's jaw dropped.

Yes. Definitely, definitely worth it.

-o-

Green. Everything was so green. Trees with huge canopies towered over him and thick green vines wove their way between the branches while strange, leafy plants surrounded him on every side. Even the man on the ground was green, but he knew that wasn't connected. Samos had been green even before they'd gone through that giant ring. Mar bit his lip and patted the man on the chest.

_Please wake up._

He was scared. He had no idea where they were or if that monster was going to come after them or what had happened to that other boy. The other boy was already hurt. He was hurt so bad that he'd been _bleeding_. Young as he was, Mar knew that blood was serious. And there'd been so much of it. Why hadn't the other boy been crying? Mar had wanted to cry just looking at him.

_Please be all right._

He looked at the ring, hoping to see the boy come through, but it had stopped glowing almost as soon as Mar had come out. He wasn't certain, but he thought that meant that it wasn't working. But... but maybe the boy could fix it. Maybe he'd beat the monster and use that stone to open the ring back up. Then he could help wake Samos up and everything would be all right.

But nothing happened and nothing happened and Mar's hopes began to die. With a soft sob that didn't really contain any sound, he buried his face in Samos' shirt. He didn't know what to do. What did warriors do when they were scared and all alone? He tried to remember the stories his father told him, but nothing would come. Not even the ones about Mar.

Another sob came, then another, and his stomach growled. He wanted food. He wanted water. He wanted to go home. He wanted his father. His hand went to his chest, clutching for the seal his father had given him.

But it wasn't there.

Mar's eyes flew open and stared at his chest, then frantically searched the ground and the bushes all around the ring. That seal was very important, his father had said. It was his family's seal, and he was supposed to hold onto it forever. How could he have _lost_ it? How could he have lost the seal of _Mar?_

No matter where he looked, though, he couldn't find it, which meant it had to be back in that room with the monster. Tears slid down his face and he dropped to the ground, hugging his knees to his chest. He'd lost it. The one thing his father had given him to guard and he'd _lost_ it. Mar's body shook with shuddering breaths that were the closest he'd ever come to crying out loud. Everything suddenly felt so much worse.

A low groan came from the man on the ground, just loud enough to catch his attention. Mar lifted his head in time to see Samos sit up, rubbing his stomach gingerly. "Great yakkow, what in the world happened?"

Mar had never been so glad to see someone wake up in his life. _Samos!_ With a wordless cry, he jumped up and all but threw himself at the man, clutching so desperately he didn't even notice Samos wince. He was all right. He was _all right._ He'd know what to do and Mar wasn't on his own after all.

Samos stared down at him in surprise, then a frown crossed his face as he looked all around. He patted Mar's back somewhat awkwardly, then used both hands to pry the boy away. "Come on, kid," he said gruffly. "I need to take a look around."

Mar didn't want to let go of him, though, and he latched onto his hand almost as soon as he stood up. Samos sighed and shook his head, but he didn't shake the boy off. Instead, he took a moment to examine the ring.

"Hmm. It looks like the ring has been turned off. Wherever we are, we're stuck here for the time being." Resting his other hand on the ring briefly, he looked up at the sky. "And it's going to be dark in a few hours. We should find shelter and something to eat."

A wave of relief washed over Mar then. He knew it. He knew Samos would have a plan. The man had always sounded very wise whenever he spoke to those other people, the ones he'd been staying with. Granted, most of the plans he gave to them confused Mar and didn't hold much meaning, but _this_ plan sounded like a good one. He nodded and squeezed Samos' hand, giving the plan his approval.

Samos interpreted the gesture for what it was and started away from the ring. "You know," he said as he picked his way through the thick green growth, "I think I'm going to have to give you a name. I can't keep calling you 'kid,' kid."

Mar frowned. He _had_ a name. But how could he tell Samos what it was? He pressed his lips together, then opened his mouth, just like his father did whenever he said the word. _Mar._ His name was _Mar._ It didn't work, though, because no sound came out. How did people do that?

"Jak." When Mar looked up at him, startled, Samos smiled and squeezed his hand back. "Jak's a good name. We'll go with that for now, until you learn how to speak."

It wasn't his name. Mar stared at the man unhappily, then looked down at the ground. There wasn't anything he could do. He couldn't speak and no one was there who knew his real name. He'd just have to be "Jak" until they found his father. Hopefully, that would be really soon.

As the two unwittingly made their way toward Sandover, somewhere in the future a Metal Head plotted at the bottom of a tomb. Its plans had been thwarted yet again, but it would not give up. It would travel to the past and find that boy...

And history began again.

**-The End-**

Well, it's been a blast, but yes, this is the end.

Thanks for reading! And I'd love to hear any thoughts that any of you might have.


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